Between Scylla & Charybdis WIP
by Melissa Rivers
Summary: Sometimes the only choice can be to deal with the devil.
1. Default Chapter

TITLE: Between Scylla and Charybdis  
AUTHOR: Melissa Rivers & Karen  
EMAIL: missy@lexicon.net  
WEBSITE:   
http://www.geocities.com/missyliannem/csi/html  
CATEGORY: General fic; angst; violence  
SPOILERS: Spoilers Season 1, 2 & 3  
RATING: PG13  
SUMMARY:   
Sometimes the only choice can be to deal with the devil.  
STATUS: WIP  
ARCHIVING:   
CSI Fanfic Archive; CSI Grissom/Sara Archive.  
Otherwise, not without permission.  
DISCLAIMER:  
CSI:Crime Scene Investigation and its characters are  
the property of Anthony Zuiker, Alliance Atlantis &  
CBS Production Company. I have written this story for  
entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever  
has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is  
intended.   
AUTHOR NOTES:  
Girssom's Girl (Karen) offered me the idea for this  
story and then through emails, it has expanded to what  
is being posting here. Hope you enjoy. Thanks again to  
Alison for her marvellous and tireless editing.   
FEEDBACK: On or off-list is fine, but please let me  
know what you think. If there are any glaring errors,  
please let me know as I'd like to correct any before it is  
put on my website.   
  
Part 1:  
  
"Hey, gorgeous!"  
  
The confident, sleazy voice broke through the silence of  
the break room. The sole occupant of the room let the  
magazine in her hand drop down onto the table with a  
resounding bang. Pursing her lips and narrowing her  
eyes, Catherine Willows slowly turned to face her ex-  
husband, Eddie.  
  
  
"What're you doing here?" She didn't even deign to say  
his name. It surprised her that he had gained access to  
the CSI labs. Gil Grissom had banned him over a year  
ago from entering the premises and Eddie had up until  
now taken the threat seriously.   
  
"Eddie must be feeling suicidal," she thought. Right  
now, he was on the top of her list of people she was  
most likely to shoot, given the chance to escape a  
prison sentence. Her blue eyes glinted fiercely as she  
took in his unshaven face as he leaned casually against  
the door jam.   
  
"Is that any way to treat the father of your child?" Eddie  
slithered his way across the floor to sit on the seat  
opposite Catherine.   
  
"Pity you didn't remember that yesterday when it was  
her birthday!"  
  
Eddie had the decency to look chagrined for all of a  
moment. "I didn't forget - I was coming by to see her  
today. How could I forget my little girl's birthday?" He  
gave her his most tantalising of all his smiles. Sadly for  
him, it didn't soften her mood at all.  
  
"Easily, Eddie. Like you've forgotten a lot of things,"  
Catherine reminded him, sarcastically. "Did you even  
buy her a present?"  
  
"Well, that's what I need to speak to you about. I need  
to borrow some money."  
  
"You want to use my money to buy our daughter a  
present?" Contempt dripped from the words, each one  
singularly enunciated, damning Eddie's financial  
planning for the future. Catherine picked up her mug  
from the table and went to the sink, rinsing it under hot  
water. "How much? And don't think I'm doing this for  
you; it's for Lindsay."  
  
"Okay, I can see you're in a pissy mood. Obviously, I've  
hit the wrong time of the month, so I'll come straight to  
the point. I don't have much time to argue with you  
anyway. I need twenty thou."  
  
The mug slipped from numb fingers, hitting the bottom  
of the sink with a clatter. Catherine's eyes widened as  
she whipped around to face Eddie, her face livid as the  
words tumbled from her mouth, her voice breaking as  
the shock of his request sank in. "Twenty thousand  
dollars! Are you out of your mind? What the hell are  
you intending on buying Lindsay... Oh, but this isn't  
really about Lindsay, is it, Eddie? What is it this time?   
Gambling debt? Drug money?"  
  
Eddie graced her with an embarrassed look. He gave a  
quick glance around to make sure no one was within  
hearing distance.   
  
"Let's just say I owe some guys some dough. And I  
owe it pretty quick. It's not that much - just twenty thou.   
I've gotta sweet little gig coming up, and I can repay you  
real soon. I'd really appreciate it, babe."  
  
"Twenty thousand dollars? Where do you think I can  
get that kind of money?" Catherine leaned back against  
the sink. "Eddie, I'm a single mom, raising a child with  
no child support, just in case you'd forgotten. You don't  
even remember your daughter's birthday and you  
expect me to save your skin when you get in deep  
water? Where do you get the gall to come in here and  
ask me, of all people, to save your sorry butt? You got  
your share of the profits from the sale of our house.   
Use that."  
  
"I've spent it."  
  
"What? On your latest music scam or last night's  
action?"  
  
Eddie stood up and walked across to Catherine, pulling  
himself to his full height to tower over her smaller  
stature. His face darkened as he tried to master the  
anger he felt. He had paid to get her this job and to  
stop her junkie habit. Yet, he had lost his wife to not  
only the job but to her boss.   
  
"That's a laugh. What about the action you've been  
getting on the side, Cat?" Eddie deliberately used his  
pet name for her, knowing how it would irritate. "I  
always knew there was a thing between you and Gil.   
I'm sure that you have plenty of men waiting in the  
wings, keeping you in those good clothes. You have  
the money from the sale stashed away safely. I know  
you, Catherine."  
  
Catherine was watching his face as he said this. There  
were more thoughts running through his mind, but she  
wasn't privy to them. She could see the emotions  
flickering across his face, and was growing a little afraid  
of what she saw there, remembering that look from  
years past. She pulled back, away from him, intending  
to head out of the room. But Eddie was too quick for  
her, one hand shooting out and firmly gripping her upper  
arm and shoving her back against the bank of  
cupboards.  
  
"Bitch! I know you have the money, and I need it. You  
owe me! If you don't give it to me, they're going to kill  
me. Do you understand that? These men are serious.   
How are you going to explain to our daughter that you  
let her daddy be killed just because you wouldn't give  
him the money he needed? Explain that. You can't,  
can you? I'm desperate here. Just give me the money,  
and I'll be out of your life. I just need to disappear, but  
I've got to get this taken care of first." He grabbed both  
her upper arms and gave her a couple of firm shakes.   
The look on Eddie's face was a mixture of fear and  
anger - a look that Catherine had seen before, and  
dreaded.  
  
"Eddie! Listen to me. I don't have that kind of money.   
You know I used the money to buy my condo. There's  
nothing there to give you." Catherine tried to reason  
with him, but past experience told her that there was no  
breaking through the mania that had taken over the man  
holding her.  
  
"Listen, I need money and you're going to give it to me."   
Eddie voice had reached fever pitch. The slap echoed  
in the empty room, sounding like a gun shot. His hand  
had connected before Catherine could react, and the  
force of the blow sent her reeling backwards with a  
small cry. The cabinets stopped her from falling too  
far, as did the grip Eddie still had on her right arm.   
  
Catherine was in shock. She hadn't expected the  
violence from Eddie to emanate at work, especially  
after the last time. It wasn't the first time he had struck  
her, but that had been many years before. She had  
been young and immature, too accepting of the rough  
side of Eddie, sacrificing her safety for the romance  
she had dreamed of. The dream had come crashing to  
an end between his increasing need for control, the  
safety of their daughter and his extramarital affairs. All  
in all, it had been a wise decision. Speaking with him  
today had not.   
  
Raising her left hand to her face, Catherine could feel  
the pulsating heat pervading the side of her face. She  
slowly shook her head, trying to ease the ringing sound  
in her ear. Eddie took this simple shake as a negative  
and raised his fist to strike her again, his anger totally  
out of control.   
  
Before his hand could strike, Eddie found himself  
catapulted sideways by a fast moving force. He broke  
his grip on Catherine and stumbled, trying to regain his  
footing under the onslaught.   
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The words  
were out of Sara's mouth before she had time to even  
register who the man was. When her brain finally  
caught up to speed, she recognized Eddie, the failed  
musician, husband and father. "Why the hell are you  
here? Grissom told you *never* to return."  
  
"Catherine, are you okay?" Sara turned to Catherine,  
her eyes quickly running over her colleague, checking  
for injury. Apart from the vivid red mark showing  
distinct fingerprints staining the side of Catherine's  
face, she appeared all right. She turned her back on  
Eddie, ignoring him in her concern for Catherine. She  
moved towards the smaller woman hesitantly.  
  
"Who the hell do I think I am? What about you? I was  
talking with my wife and you assaulted me for no  
reason."  
  
"Hate to bring you up to date, but she's your ex-wife.   
You want to talk about assault? Get your facts straight,  
buddy. I'm going to get the guards to escort you off the  
premises." Sara was so mad, she spat the words out  
with venom. Raising herself to her full height, she  
approached Eddie menacingly, her eyes flashing  
dangerously. "You ever touch her again, you'll be in jail  
before you can blink. Get outta here, now!"  
  
Too late, Sara saw the look on Eddie's face. He was  
beyond control, beyond caring about the   
consequences. Aggression filled his being and Eddie  
aimed a curved first directly at the centre of Sara's  
face.   
  
Last minute reflexes took hold and she bore the brunt of  
the force to her cheek, her head whipping back under  
the pressure. Sara immediately drew her own hand  
back in defence, and made contact with Eddie's nose  
with her fist. She had the satisfaction of hearing  
cartilage break. Eddie fell down to the floor, holding his  
nose in both hands and blood immediately began to  
flow from his nose, threading between his cupped  
hands and stained his shirt a bright, crimson red.  
  
As Eddie hit the floor, Nick and Warrick came flying  
through the door, drawn to the break room by the  
vicious argument. They both stopped short at the sight  
before them, surprised at finding Eddie on the floor,  
looking totally crushed. The two women stood, their  
faces flushed. No, correction. Catherine had a hand-  
print colouring the left side of her face. Sara, on the  
other hand, was red from exertion, her heavy breathing  
giving away the rush of adrenaline slowly ebbing away,  
and a small trail of blood from a cut on her cheek.   
  
"She broke my nose. That bitch broke my nose. I  
want her arrested for assault!" Eddie screamed, his  
words muffled beneath his hands and the injury to his  
nose. He pointed clearly at Sara, his eyes clearly  
damning her as the guilty party for inflicting the damage.   
  
Unfortunately for Eddie, the sounds had also attracted  
the head of the team. Grey-haired Gil Grissom entered  
the room right behind the two younger men. He  
scanned the entire room taking in all the evidence  
before him, his sharp, eagle eyes quickly sorting out the  
pertinent details. Tilting his head to the side, and  
running his tongue over his dry lips, he had already  
developed a plausible theory of the causal events  
resulting in Eddie sitting on his backside on the floor of  
the break room.  
  
"Eddie. I thought I told you not to return here. I want  
you to leave right now." Grissom instructed him,  
ignoring the obvious injury to Eddie Willows' face. The  
fact that Sara was holding her hand rather gingerly  
clued him in as to who had brought about the change to  
Eddie's appearance. He shook his head, shaking away  
the fear that this night was sure to bring on a migraine.   
  
"I want that bitch arrested. She broke my nose. That's  
assault and battery." Eddie spat the words, the threat  
of legal recompense against Sara already filtering  
through his slow witted mind.   
  
"Eddie, you hit me first and then Sara. You're going to  
be fighting two assault charges before we even get to  
the matter of your injuries, which were inflicted in self-  
defence. Think about who would make the more  
credible witness, Eddie. Get outta here. " Catherine  
was trying desperately to keep her voice under control,  
to not break down and cry. "What had she ever seen in  
the man?" she thought.  
  
Turning her back on the man she had once called her  
husband, Catherine grabbed some paper towels from  
the counter. Running it under some water, she  
approached Sara and gently guided her to the table.   
She dabbed at the blood trail from the small cut on  
Sara's cheek. Sara was still shaking with anger and  
something else, while keeping her eyes firmly fixed on  
the man struggling to his feet. Her face was pale and  
her breathing was still ragged.  
  
Catherine narrowed her eyes as she examined her  
colleague's face. There was something behind those  
dark eyes, something besides the understandable rage.  
As she watched Sara, the close scrutiny didn't go  
unnoticed. Too quickly, the small glimpse into an  
unknown facet of her friend something that Catherine  
had a hard time defining, disappeared. Catherine made  
a mental note to ask Sara about it later, when  
everything was a bit calmer.  
  
"Nick, Warrick - please, escort Mr. Willows to the door."   
Grissom instructed them. Turning his back on Eddie,  
he tossed a recommendation across his shoulder,   
"And Eddie, I would think twice about filing charges.   
Striking a police officer is a crime we don't take lightly.   
I'm letting you go this time, but if I ever see you around  
here again, the end won't be a simple broken nose.   
Believe me." His face conveyed the message more  
clearly than mere words could.  
  
Nick and Warrick grinned as they assisted Eddie to his  
feet. A few snickers escaped their lips as they recalled  
the look on Eddie's face as he hit the floor. Clearly,  
being knocked over by a mere girl was a new  
experience to this obnoxious man. They could hardly  
wait to get Catherine's side of the story. Once this was  
safely in the past, they knew she would enjoy telling  
about Sara Sidle, Iron Fist.   
  
Eddie's face darkened; he was sure everyone in the  
room was laughing at him. He shook off the arms that  
held him. Nick and Warrick backed off, hands raised in  
the air, clearly showing that they weren't touching the  
guy.   
  
Looking at the blood covering his shirt, Eddie gave a  
vicious shake of his hand towards the group of  
investigators. "You'll pay for this.... you'll all pay for  
this!" He stormed out of the room and out of the  
building.  
  
  
End Part 1/? 


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO:   
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers:  
  
  
"Nick, make sure Eddie leaves the building. I'd hate for  
him to get lost along the way, seeing as he has trouble  
following simple instructions," Grissom said.  
  
Grissom turned towards the two women, both now sitting  
silently at the table. The panic that he had felt when he  
had entered the room was fading, replaced by a slow,  
deep set anger at seeing the two people dearest to him  
injured. It angered him even more that they were hurt on  
his shift and within the confines of the lab. Catherine, a  
long-standing colleague and close friend, and Sara, who  
had always been special to him, holding a unique, as yet  
undefined, place in his heart.   
  
"Sara. My office. Now." As soon as he said the words,  
he regretted them. They had come out wrong, his anger  
tainting the words, making them sound much harsher  
than he intended.   
  
Sara looked up at Grissom. Her mouth opened to protest,  
but one look at his face and the argument died on her  
tongue. She could see the disappointment in his eyes.   
Her mouth firmly set in anger at his assumption, she  
pushed back her seat forcibly, Sara strode out of the  
room, her back ramrod straight, without a backward look  
at any of them. She didn't regret her actions and would  
defend them wholeheartedly.   
  
Her eyes narrowed as her dying anger towards Eddie  
was refuelled and redirected and began to build to boiling  
point. Sara marched down the hallway to Grissom's  
office, her determined gait forcing her co-workers to step  
aside. The set of her jaw warned them not to question  
the rapidly forming bruise and cut to her cheek. Entering  
the office, she paced inside, waiting for the inevitable  
reprimand. Grissom had made his disappointment so  
obvious that Sara thought she might even be facing  
suspension.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Gil turned towards Catherine, who still held the bloody  
paper towel in her hand, her surprise obvious in her  
expression.   
  
"Gil, how could you speak to her that way?" Catherine  
protested. She tossed the paper towel on the sink, her  
annoyance with him obvious. "You know she was only  
trying to protect me. If she hadn't come along, it would be  
me with the broken nose and not Eddie."  
  
Warrick backed up her statement. "Griss, Eddie hit the  
ground when Sara hit him. We didn't see him slug her,  
but her face tells us that she was definitely hit by him.   
The only way that would have happened was for Eddie to  
hit her first."  
  
Catherine threw him an accusatory look. "Grissom,  
what's wrong with you? You know Eddie. You've stopped  
him from hitting me before. If I didn't know you any better,  
I'd think you were siding with Eddie. Would you rather he  
had beaten me?"  
  
"Catherine, calm down. It's not that I didn't believe you or  
Sara." Grissom sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. You're right.   
I shouldn't have spoken in that tone to Sara. It came out  
wrong. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."  
  
"Well, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. And  
you'd better do it pretty darn quick or you just might not  
get the chance to."  
  
Grissom shot his friend a look. She was probably right.   
She usually was, when it concerned people and their  
feelings. It was an area where he just didn't feel  
comfortable. He usually followed her lead in matters of  
human interaction. That was one of the reasons they  
made such a good team.  
  
"Are you okay?" Grissom asked in concern, the slap to  
the side of her face beginning to turn a nasty shade of  
purple.  
  
"I'll live, though I wouldn't put any money on Eddie when  
I get through with him." Catherine gave a wry grin. "Mind  
you, Sara slugging him like that is going to stay with me  
for a while. Go and speak to her." As mad as she was at  
Eddie, the memory of him sitting on the floor with a  
broken nose was beginning to tickle her fancy. Eddie  
usually picked his wars a bit more carefully.   
  
"Griss, you'll need this." Warrick handed Grissom a small  
emergency medical kit. "You really should treat that cut  
on her face."  
  
Grissom went to the small community fridge and pulled  
out a small ice pack. At their confused looks, he told  
them, "she's sure to have hurt her knuckles on his nose.   
They'll need some attention as well."  
  
"So does she. She's been waiting long enough, don't you  
think?" Catherine pointed out, raising her eyebrows at  
him, deliberately underlining the double entendre.   
  
Grissom ignored the silent message, shaking his head in  
denial. Ever since Sara had retracted her LOA  
application, Catherine had been subtlety making  
comments to him in passing, encouraging him to say  
more than just what the plant may have implied.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Grissom watched Sara pace his office from the hallway.   
The way she stalked the room was sufficient warning to  
him that he had a fairly big apology to give, if only he could  
apologise before she exploded in fury.  
  
"Sara, sit down," Grissom invited gently, a small smile  
softening the words further, as she spun around quickly  
to face him. He had managed to enter the room silently,  
catching her unaware. He lightly cupped her elbow and  
led her to the seat. "How's your head?"  
  
The gentleness with which he said the words and the  
touch to her arm took her by surprise. Sara sat down,  
wondering how Grissom could still manage to surprise  
her. He had surprised and angered her in the break room  
moments ago by jumping to conclusions. He was the  
one always reminding her to keep an open mind until all  
the evidence was in. Suddenly it dawned on her that she  
was doing exactly the same thing. The annoyance and  
anger that had been welling inside her dissipated like  
water after the plug in a sink had been pulled.  
  
"Sore. He had a damn ring." Sara reached up and  
fingered the bruised area, pulling back sharply as her  
fingers touched the edge of the ragged cut. Her fingers  
came away with blood on their tips as she sucked in her  
breath quickly to squelch a gasp of pain.  
  
"It looks nasty. Hold still and I'll clean it up." Grissom  
crouched down beside her chair and placed the medical  
kit on the floor. "Here's an ice pack for your hand."  
  
"You don't miss much," Sara gave him a small smile.  
  
"I'm an investigator. It's what I'm trained to do." Grissom  
fished through the medical kit, collecting gauze,  
disinfectant and butterfly strips.  
  
"So why don't you notice what's underneath your nose?"  
Sara asked him quietly, her eyes glistening with unshed  
tears as she challenged him. The thought that Grissom  
believed that she would have instigated the argument with  
Eddie made her heart go cold, the beating organ held in  
a vice-like grip of fear, her breathing tight with emotion.  
  
Sara may not have hit him with a fist between the eyes  
like Eddie, but the effect was the same. His head shot up  
to meet her questioning eyes. "I notice..." Grissom denied  
her accusation.  
  
"Do you?" Sara soft voice quietly cut him off, her voice  
breaking under the pressure. "If you do notice, then why  
don't you trust me?"  
  
"I do - I trust you. Sara, I'm not accusing you of anything."   
Grissom rubbed his hand across his mouth. He  
wondered how he could explain to Sara what he had felt  
when he had walked into that room, seeing her holding  
her hand gingerly and blood running down the side of her  
face. Shock at the sight had been the first emotion, then  
anger at seeing his CSI injured, quickly followed by elation  
at seeing Eddie decked out on the floor. That was his  
Sara.   
  
"It didn't sound like it back there," Sara contradicted him.  
  
"I'm sorry." Grissom reached out to catch her left hand  
within his. "I was concerned for you and Catherine. I  
didn't mean them the way it sounded. Really, Sara, I'm  
truly sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I know Eddie was  
the one to start all this."  
  
"So there's no reprimand; no suspension?" Sara asked,  
her turbid brown eyes met his, seeking reassurance.  
  
"You think I'd reprimand you for doing the obvious?"   
Grissom caressed the small, elongated hand within his,  
brushing across the delicate creamy white skin with his  
roughened thumb. "Not at all. Eddie had it coming. If it  
wasn't you, I'm sure Warrick or Nick would have filled in  
for you quite willingly."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Sara, never doubt that I trust you," Grissom told her,  
gently cupping her left cheek in his hand and softly  
brushing aside the solitary tear that had escaped. "Have  
faith in me and yourself."  
  
Sara offered him a serene smile, her teeth glimmering  
through her slightly parted lips.   
  
"Now how about I clean up your cheek," Grissom  
suggested. With care, he tended lightly to the wound,  
dabbing away the blood leaving a clean, jagged cut. Sara  
was surprised that his large hands could be so gentle.  
She barely felt a twinge. He sealed the wound with two  
small butterfly strips. "You should put that ice on your  
cheek as well to reduce the swelling."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Grissom asked,  
remembering all the cases they had handled where x-  
rays had revealled facial fractures in abuse victims.   
  
"No. I don't think it's broken, just bruised." She raised her  
right hand with the ice pack to her cheek, flinching as the  
cold penetrated the hot skin.  
  
"Why don't you go home, rest up and come back  
tomorrow?" Grissom sat back on his haunches,  
surveying his CSI, assessing and trying to classify the  
range of emotions he felt inside. He had meant what he  
had said to her; that he had only noticed beauty since he  
met her. She had managed to make him see a lot more  
things more clearly, while confusing him even more  
inside.  
  
"There's nothing to do. I'll only sit there and listen to my  
scanner or read crime novels. I'm much better off staying  
here and getting something done. I'll work in the labs."  
  
A knock sounded on the door. Both of them looked up,  
automatically jumping at the sound and their hands pulling  
back into the safety of their own laps.  
  
Catherine stood there with a mug in her hand. "I thought  
Sara could do with some coffee."  
  
"Thanks, Catherine." Sara wasn't quite sure that was the  
only reason she had arrived at the door. There was a  
look of smugness in her face that Sara wasn't quite able  
to pinpoint. Catherine was usually so easy to read, but  
Sara also realised that she usually followed through her  
body language with words. Here, she was only observing  
and keeping her thoughts to herself. Like she had done  
in the break room. Something in that gaze told her that  
Catherine was seeing much more than she wanted her  
to.   
  
"Do you want the coffee?"  
  
"Yes, she does."  
  
Sara looked at Grissom, her eyes narrowing at the tone  
of his words, conveying an order rather than an opinion.   
She wasn't sure who the tone was directed at, but the  
way it came out, she took offence. "I can answer for  
myself."  
  
She took the drink from Catherine's hand as she swept  
passed her and down the hall.   
  
"Gil, did you talk to her?"  
  
"Yes, I did. It was going quite well until you showed up."  
Grissom's words held a tinge of accusation in their tone.   
His eyes questioned why she had turned up when she  
had, especially considering she was the one encouraging  
him to talk to Sara.  
  
"You're going to blame me for her attitude now?"  
Catherine gave him a hard look, challenging him to  
continue his argument.  
  
"I give up." Grissom held up his hands in mock  
surrender. "I've managed to upset Sara twice today  
without meaning to. I think I'll just get some paperwork  
done. The most damage I can do are paper cuts and  
they'll be self-inflicted wounds."  
  
"You're not going to get any sympathy from me, Gil. I've  
told you that you need to talk to Sara more, open up to  
her. And work is also not the place to say what you need  
to say." Catherine gave him the subtle answer to his  
earlier question. "I don't get it. Both of you can intuitively  
know what the other is going to say on a case yet there's  
this boundary between your personal and professional  
intuitiveness. Where does that spark get lost?"  
  
The words hung heavily in the air like a damp, early  
morning mist; the meaning behind them slowly  
descending over Grissom. He raised eyes to meet  
Catherine's, running his tongue around the inside of his  
mouth as he pondered her question. He knew that the  
intuitiveness didn't get lost. But there was a barrier that  
he put up to guard them both, and in doing so, he had  
managed to hurt the person he was trying to protect.  
  
"I'm taking Sara home after shift. She won't have a car;  
why don't you pick her up later?" Catherine suggested,  
turning on her heel, her hair floating like a spun gold halo  
around her face, and leaving him to think more about what  
she had said.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Sara, you're coming to my house." Catherine walked into  
the locker room where her younger colleague was  
rummaging through her locker, searching for something.  
  
"Not today, Catherine," Sara told her distractedly.  
  
"Sara, I need to talk to you - about today; about Eddie."  
Catherine carefully considered her words. She knew  
there was something brewing underneath the surface,  
she had seen it in Sara's eyes in the aftermath of Eddie's  
attack and intuitively took a guess as to what might be the  
cause.  
  
That had got Sara's attention. Her hands stilled in their  
search and she turned her head to watch her friend  
closely. The dark eyes were shadowed, the bruising on  
her cheek enhancing their dark depths.  
  
"All right. But not for too long. I've got a meeting I want to  
go to later."  
  
Catherine's eyebrows raised slightly. Sara had caught  
her by surprise. It was hard enough to imagine Sara  
actually leaving to go home, let alone that she might be  
doing something other than work or sleeping.   
  
"Twenty minutes, okay?"  
  
"Sure. Fine. Whatever," Sara said, turning her back on  
Catherine and continuing her rummage through her bag.  
  
"Sara, are sure you're okay?"  
  
"I've got a headache, that's all. You know how downright  
grumpy I am when I get one." Sara rubbed her hand  
across her forehead, then dragged her fingers through  
her hair, pushing it back out of her face.  
  
"Have you taken anything?" Catherine leaned against the  
locker, gauging the look in her friend's eyes.  
  
Sara rolled her eyes. Catherine was like her mother  
reincarnate.   
  
"Take something. You'll feel better and sleep better."   
Catherine left the room, her delicate perfume leaving a  
light fragrance floating in the air.  
  
"That's what you think," Sara grumbled under her breath.   
The dreams that accompanied the tablets would scare  
any migraine into submission.  
  
End Part 2/? 


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks for the lovely reviews that have been  
made and once again, a very big thank you to our  
editor, Alison (Vigirl).  
  
CHAPTER 3:  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers:  
  
  
Catherine drove her small compact up the long, narrow  
driveway to her condo at the rear. The building was  
sheltered beneath a canopy of trees, reducing the heat  
of the hot Vegas summer. Catherine parked the car in  
front of a single, lock-up garage.   
  
"Nice," Sara commented, appreciatively. She got out of  
the car, the early morning Vegas air warming her  
quickly after the cool, air conditioned atmosphere inside  
Catherine's car. Sara looked around, slowly absorbing  
the wonderful beauty of the small landscaped garden  
that bordered the double storey house. Splashes of  
bright colour danced vividly against a sea of green.   
Fern fronds draped themselves lazily over the myriad of  
small flowers, the diversity in types complimenting each  
other and giving a textured feel to the garden.   
  
"Do you do the gardening?"  
  
"Yeah. Although, it's more a case of planting as much  
as I can so that weeds can't take up residence in their  
place." Catherine gave a small laugh. Gardening was a  
form of release for her. After a bad day, she would  
often come home and give Lindsey a big hug before  
she headed off to school. It was then that Catherine  
took out her anger on the green villains taking up  
residence in her garden, their evil spreading at a fast  
pace throughout the balanced society she had created.   
Each thrust of the shovel succeeded in casting out  
another blight on the landscape, and exposed the weed  
to a tight, stranglehold of satisfaction before it was  
tossed aside into the garbage.  
  
"My Mom used to do the same thing." A wistful smile  
played across Sara's face.  
  
Catherine gave a small smile in return, happy to see  
that whatever Sara was remembering was good. In the  
last year, she had seemed to retreat a bit within herself,  
her smiles fewer and farther between; her laughter that  
had often filled the halls of the CSI labs came  
infrequently these days. Catherine wasn't sure when  
the change began. She could easily pinpoint Sara's  
anger at Grissom; her application for a Leave of  
Absence had been proof of that. But other than that,  
Sara was very hard to read without backing her into a  
corner and forcing her to open up.   
  
"Come on inside, it's already getting hot out here."  
  
Sara didn't disagree. Vegas in the height of summer  
was not a place you wanted to be outside by choice.   
She didn't think she would ever get used to the  
oppressive heat, which seemed to double in intensity  
when on asphalt or in the desert. It seemed such a  
contrast to the cool coastal fogs of  
Tomales Bay, where she had grown up. Sometimes  
the longing to breathe the sharp, clean air of the sea on  
those long, hot Vegas nights, would almost cause a  
physical pain inside her.  
  
Catherine put the key in the lock, opening the solid  
wooden door. Cool air floated around them as they  
entered, the fingers of cold air caressing their bare  
arms.  
  
"Hi Danni. Everything okay?" Catherine spoke to the  
young woman who came into the hallway at the sound  
of the key in the lock. Long black ringlets framed a  
flawless, coffee-coloured face. Large black eyes swept  
over Sara, her gaze stopping notably on the injuries to  
her face. She narrowed her eyes slightly, before  
returning her attention to Catherine.  
  
"Fine. Lindsey's in the kitchen eating breakfast."  
  
"Danni, this is Sara. She works with me. Sara, Danni."  
  
An awkward small exchange of introductions took  
place, both women unsure of the other. Catherine  
walked into the kitchen, dumping her handbag onto the  
coffee table to the left as she walked by.  
  
"Hey kiddo." Catherine bent over her tow-haired child,  
giving her a quick kiss and hug.  
  
"Mommy." Lindsey cried out in delight, turning to return  
the hug and almost sending her breakfast across the  
table.  
  
"Careful. What've you got for breakfast?" Catherine  
asked as she rescued the errant plate from disaster.  
  
"Cap'n Crunch with Apple Jacks."  
  
"Interesting combination. I'm glad that you're going to  
be at school today." Catherine rolled her eyes at Sara,  
feeling sorry for Lindsay's teacher, Mr. Rubinstone.   
She picked up the kettle and ran hot water into it.   
"Hurry up and eat, Linds. It's not long before you'll have  
to go to school."   
  
Lindsey actually had over an hour before she was due  
to leave, but the reminder was an age old parent thing.  
  
"Mom, can't I stay home with you and Sara? Hi Sara."  
The blonde-haired child gave a cheeky grin at Sara.   
"What happened to your face?"  
  
"I walked into a door."  
  
"Mommy used to do that all the time," Lindsey told her  
matter-of-factly. "Now, she's learned to miss them.   
You'll have to learn to avoid them too."  
  
"I'll try to remember that. I'll have to speak to your  
mother about how to avoid them." Sara gave Catherine  
a knowing look, reminding her of the conversation that  
was promised in the locker room.   
  
"Catherine, I'll get going home," Danni broke into the  
conversation.  
  
"Thanks again, Danni. We'll see you tonight."  
  
"See ya, munchkin." Danni gave one of Lindsey's plaits  
a small tug of affection, teasing her.   
  
"I'm not a munchkin. Bye, Danni." Lindsey retorted and  
waved goodbye.  
  
"Bye Catherine. Nice to meet you, Sara."   
  
Catherine saw Danni to the door, automatically locking  
it and putting on the safety chain.  
  
"Do you want some coffee?" Catherine asked as she  
returned to the kitchen.  
  
"Please."  
  
"Cream and one sugar?" Catherine confirmed before  
placing each into a coffee mug.  
  
"Yep." Sara sat down on the bar stool beside Lindsey,  
blatantly watching the child eat her breakfast with  
vigour. Sara swallowed and grimaced as she thought  
of the high sugar content contained in each breakfast  
cereal. The combination was unthinkable.  
  
"Mom, I've finished my breakfast. Can I watch  
cartoons?"   
  
Sara admired the tone in which she asked the question,  
a perfect balance of whine versus pleading.   
"Have you got your school bag ready? Text books  
packed, lunch, library bag *and* book."  
  
Lindsey's head nodded ferociously with each  
statement.  
  
"All right. Brush your teeth first, though," Catherine  
called out after the golden-haired tornado that spun out  
of the room whose screams of delight that "Mom's the  
best" were left to float in the air along with the high  
pitched squeal of the boiling kettle.  
  
"You've made her very happy." Sara gave a small grin.   
  
  
"It makes up for all the times when I have to say no."   
  
Catherine placed the cup of coffee in front of Sara and  
pulled up a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen  
bench. Catherine wasn't sure how to broach the  
subject she wished to talk about with Sara. She had  
just gotten the courage to jump in when Sara surprised  
her with a question of her own.  
  
"Why?"   
  
"Pardon?" Catherine inclined her head slightly to the  
right, her eyes narrowing as she sought an explanation  
to the open-ended question.  
  
"Why do you still take it? The abuse." Sara's brown  
eyes met with Catherine's, the dark depths swirling with  
confusion.  
  
"I don't..." Catherine shook her head slowly, denying the  
accusation.   
  
"Don't you? I saw you with him today. You didn't fight  
back." Sara shook her head, affirming her disbelief of  
Catherine's attempted denial. "Lindsey's comments tell  
me that his abuse was regular; regular enough for her  
to remember. You separated when she was what -  
four, five?"  
  
"She never witnessed it," Catherine told her quickly, too  
quickly for Sara's liking.  
  
"Are you so sure?" Sara looked down into her coffee,  
her right hand stirring the creamy substance to create a  
gentle whirlpool. "Children may not see the abuse, but  
they're a party to it. Locked in their bedrooms, they still  
hear the sounds; the screams of anger that always  
come before the sound of knuckles meeting flesh - the  
cries of pain and the words 'I'm sorry' filling the air.   
They can hear and they can see the results."  
  
Catherine found herself sitting up straighter, watching  
the emotions flicker across Sara's face as she detailed  
a child's anguish. Not just any child, Catherine knew  
intuitively. "Who was it?"  
  
Sara whipped her head up, the words stunning her into  
silence. She realised that her passionate words had  
given away much more than she had intended. Now  
she was caught with only one direction to go, to reveal  
the truth.  
  
"Your parents?"  
  
"No." Sara shook her head. "My parents were children  
of the sixties - free will and all that. Both of them are  
passive." Sara said her last words with derision.  
  
"Who then? Because I know you have witnessed it."  
  
"My aunt." Sara ran her finger around the rim of her  
mug, her eyes searing the murky depths hoping to find  
an answer to the questions that had been torturing her  
for over a decade.  
  
Catherine let Sara's revelation hang in the air, hoping  
that she would elaborate without being pushed. Her  
hopes were rewarded.  
  
"She just took it. She didn't fight back. She even  
defended him. It was as if she believed it was all her  
fault - that she'd asked to be hit," Sara said, shaking her  
head in disbelief.  
  
"Sara, you know as well as I do that abuse is not only  
physical but emotional. Most husbands who abuse  
have picked women who will be dependent upon them  
and have no way of breaking free. They have had their  
contacts with their family and friends reduced or  
severed completely. Those women carry a hell of a lot  
of guilt and don't know how to break free of the bonds  
that tie them to their husband." Catherine reached out  
to stopl Sara's hand from tracing yet another circle  
around the mug.  
  
Sara dropped her hand from the rim, resting it on the  
table. Catherine's hand still covered it, the warmth of  
friendship radiated through the small connection. "So  
how did you do it? I mean, look at the women we've  
both seen on this job. Those who have lived with abuse;  
been shattered by it. I can't see how you were ever like  
them. How could they ever get to the point where  
you're at?"   
  
"Because I had someone who cared enough to tell me  
to get out." Catherine gave a small smile, remembering  
the trust and faith she had placed in those words of  
support, spoken at a time when she needed them  
most.  
  
"Grissom."  
  
"Yes and no. He was part of it." Catherine pulled her  
hand back from covering Sara's, taking a sip from her  
coffee. "It was actually the drug rehabilitation program  
that made me see what I was doing to myself, to my  
family and friends. It also made me a stronger person.   
Eddie's abuse wasn't anything I hadn't seen before in  
my own house as a child, nor in the club scene. It was  
only once I started working as a CSI that I began to  
understand that I didn't have to take *any* abuse - I was  
able to see clearly what Eddie was doing to me."  
  
"But you didn't leave him immediately." Sara was trying  
to reconcile the strong, independent woman before her  
today with a younger Catherine who would accept being  
hit by her husband. It was a hard pill to swallow.  
  
"Sara, it's not as easy as you think." Catherine tucked  
an errant piece of hair behind her ear. "You've got to  
remember that I had a young child. I worked weird  
hours, hours when you can't get childcare. I had to look  
for someone else to look after my child. It was easier to  
stay with Eddie."  
  
"But he was in the night club scene. He would have  
worked the same hours you did," Sara contradicted  
quickly, unable to accept Catherine trying to validate her  
acceptance of abuse.  
  
"Not when Lindsey was a baby. My pay was much  
better than his..."  
  
"Hasn't it always been better than his?" Sara  
interjected.  
  
"You've got a good point there." Catherine ran her  
tongue over her teeth, giving her colleague a small grin  
of appreciation at the compliment. "Anyway, in the first  
couple of years after Lindsey was born, he cared for  
her while I worked. It was only as time went on that I  
was able to see how detrimental our relationship was,  
not only to me, but also to Lindsey. A combination of  
things fell into place at the one time; my sister moved to  
Vegas, I became a CSI Level 3 and Eddie chose the  
exact same time to be at his worst. It all worked  
towards my moving out on my own."  
  
"But you haven't totally broken free of him."  
  
"I'm getting there. We sold the house last year, which  
was the last financial tie that kept us together. I can't  
prevent him from seeing Lindsey, and frankly I don't  
want to stop him." Catherine met Sara's eyes and  
encouraged her to understand that it wasn't as simple  
as black and white. "They love each other and he  
wouldn't dare hit her. Sara, I accept that I was abused,  
but it wasn't on the scale suffered by a lot of women. I  
wasn't walking into work with bruises all over my body.   
The occasional black eye was the worst of it."  
  
"Abuse is abuse," Sara said emphatically.  
  
"I agree, and that's why I got out. One thing you have to  
remember is that men like Eddie and your uncle work  
on the feeling of guilt and inadequacy. They create a  
scenario that makes the victim believe that they have  
contributed to their beating, that they have somehow  
caused it. I got past that Sara. I realised that I was  
never the problem, it was always Eddie. But not every  
woman in an abusive situation manages to see this. "  
Catherine realised that her own story was at an end, yet  
she still didn't know the full extent of Sara's introduction  
into the world of abusive relationships. Her eyes  
quietly searched her colleague's sad face. "Sara, what  
happened to your aunt?"  
  
"She died." Sara got a faraway look in her eye,  
obviously recalling a moment in the past. "One day, he  
didn't stop the beating and continued until she stopped  
moving, stopped begging him to stop."  
  
"Were you there?"  
  
"No," Sara shook her head, regret filling her eyes.   
Catherine caught sight of a deep set anger as well. "My  
parents stopped me visiting after a particularly bad  
beating. I asked them why he did it, but they didn't have  
an answer. They did nothing to stop it, nothing to help  
her out of the abuse. They only protected me from  
becoming a victim as well."  
  
"Sara, how old were you?" Once again, Catherine  
caught hold of Sara's hand, sensing that she was in  
need of a life-line of reassurance.  
  
"When my parents forbade me from staying with them  
anymore? Ten."  
  
"So you really don't know what your parents did to try to  
stop the abuse." Catherine shook her head lightly.   
"You said yourself that your aunt took the abuse,  
accepted it as her due. If someone isn't ready to break  
free of the constraints of abuse, you can't force them.   
You can only try to help them see a way out."  
  
"I know. But I wish I could have done something more.   
All I did was stay away and let it continue." Tears filled  
Sara's eyes at the admittance of what she perceived to  
be her greatest error.  
  
"Sara, you were ten years old." Catherine gripped  
Sara's hand more tightly, her eyes seeking to reassure  
Sara that she was not responsible for her aunt's death.   
"If you had got in the way, you would have been hit too."  
  
"I know, I know. It doesn't make it any easier though."   
Sara dug into her hip pocket and pulled out a tissue,  
dabbing away the unshed tears.  
  
"It's why you feel so deeply for the women who have  
been attacked, killed by their spouses. The reason you  
go to bat for them every single time, isn't it?" Catherine  
rubbed the back of Sara's arm.  
  
"I need to give them closure, to make him pay for what  
he's done."  
  
"The killer or your uncle?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"Sara, fighting for all those women won't bring them or  
your aunt back. You need to think clearly on each case  
and don't cloud it with preconceived perceptions and  
views."  
  
"Grissom's already pointed that out."   
  
"He's right."  
  
"I know." The words came out as a low sigh.  
  
"It will take time, but the more you talk about it, the more  
you will be able to handle it."  
  
"It's not exactly something you bring up in normal  
conversation."  
  
"Sara, you can always talk to me, Grissom, the guys.   
We all understand. Each of us has our ghosts, even  
Grissom."  
  
Sara gave a half-hearted smile at that.   
  
"How about some more coffee?"  
  
Catherine didn't even wait for a response, putting the  
kettle on again and grabbing the cream and sugar.   
  
"Damn, I'm out of milk," Catherine said, swirling the  
meager contents of the carton around. "Can you stay  
with Lindsey while I go get some?"  
  
The look of horror on Sara's face rivalled the one she  
had worn when Grissom had forced her to go on that  
roller coaster ride years ago.  
  
"Sara, she's nine years old. She's been trained not to  
bite."  
  
"But I know *who* trained her." Sara smirked.  
  
"Very funny." Catherine was secretly pleased to see  
her smile. It was good to see Sara relaxed, especially  
after a tense conversation like the one that has just  
taken place. "I'll be back soon. It should only take  
fifteen minutes."  
  
"Okay, but I warn you, if you find your daughter hogtied  
on the couch, don't come after me with a butcher  
knife!"   
  
"Can you lock the door after me?" Catherine grabbed  
her handbag and walked down the hallway.  
  
Sara locked and slipped the chain back in place. She  
shook her head, wondering how she had even been  
conned into coming to Catherine's house in the first  
place. Somehow Catherine had managed to turn the  
tables on her and she had revealled an intensely  
profound moment in her life, one that helped define who  
she was today.   
  
Sara wandered into the lounge room and sat on the  
couch. Lindsey lay on the floor, her chin nestled in her  
cupped hands, eyes firmly fixed on the TV in front of  
her. Sara didn't recognise the cartoons, the bright  
flashes of colour and storyline appearing to have a very  
sci-fi feel to it.  
  
The doorbell rang., startling her from her thoughts.   
Sara checked her watch. Unfolding herself from her  
comfortable position on the couch, she went to answer  
the door. It was only a couple of minutes since  
Catherine had left. Sara assumed that she must have  
forgotten something.  
  
"Hey, that was pretty quick driving," Sara laughed as  
she opened the door, stopping abruptly as the security  
chain-lock held it secure within a few inches from the  
door jam. "What did you forget, keys, handbag..."  
  
She trailed off as she noticed two large burly men in the  
doorway. They were clearly up to no good - the black  
ski masks over their heads gave them away. A thought  
ran through her head as to the incongruous situation -  
since when do burglars ring door bells before entering?  
  
"Shit," Sara said under her breath, the word giving full  
meaning to the panic she felt. She tried to slam the  
door shut on the men. She only managed to move the  
door slightly before an exceptionally large, handmade  
black leather shoe slid strategically between the door  
and the door jam.   
  
Sara gave up trying to push against the dual weight of  
the men, realising her best chance at that moment was  
to call for help. She ran into the kitchen, digging into her  
handbag for her cell phone.   
  
"C'mmon, c'mmon," she whispered, pacing the room.   
The phone rang once, then twice. The pounding on the  
door seemed to thunder throughout the house. It was  
then she remembered Lindsey in the next room. The  
young girl hadn't moved from her fixed spot in front of  
the TV. Sara decided it would be better to leave it that  
way; there wasn't time to do anything else.  
  
Sara searched the room, looking for something to use  
to fight these guys with. Hand to hand combat against  
two men, each easily being twice her size, was usually  
called suicide.   
  
Her call was finally answered, just as the front door hit  
the wall with a resounding crash.   
  
"Help." She let out the startled cry, dropping her cell  
phone to the bench and leaving it connected to the  
emergency service. She'd found her weapon of choice  
against these thugs and it needed the element of  
surprise for it to have a chance to work.  
  
She stood in front of the refrigerator, hidden from the  
passageway. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.   
She debated her choices of hitting the first burglar or  
the second; which way would give her the better  
chance to fight?  
  
Their feet on the tiled floor sounded like a marching  
band heading her way. Each step was methodically in  
time with the other. If she hadn't known better, she  
would have thought only one man was coming towards  
her.   
  
Sara closed her eyes for a moment, hoping to gain  
strength from an inner source. She relied heavily on  
her hearing to provide her with the moment to strike.   
  
As the first man drew even with her, she threw the  
boiling water from the kettle directly at his face. The ski  
mask gave a small amount of protection, but the hot  
liquid had the man instantly clawing at his face and  
crying out in pain.   
  
Sara used the aluminum kettle to strike at the second  
man, colliding full on with the side of his face sending  
him to his knees. She then used the kettle to strike him  
again over the back of his head. A hand snaked out  
and caught her leg, attempting to pull her off balance.   
The bulky hand held her leg in a vice grip, each finger  
biting painfully into the tender flesh of her thigh. The  
grip tightened forcibly. Sara could imagine the look that  
was on his face beneath the mask, the satisfaction at  
hearing her cry out in pain.   
  
Renewed anger flowed through her and Sara brought  
the kettle down directly on the man's face, the force  
snapping his head backwards. His hands flew to his  
shattered nose. She followed through with another  
sharp hit to the side of his head and he crumpled to the  
ground.  
  
There was no time to even catch her breath as she  
was propelled across the room by a charging force, the  
snort of anger reminding her of an enraged bull. "The  
other guy," she thought dully as her body connected  
abruptly with the solid wood of the mahogany coffee  
table. Pain filtered through her shock at the surprise  
attack. Her breath had been totally knocked out of her  
lungs upon impact with the barrelling thug and her body  
now twisted in agony at the shooting arrows of pain  
from her side. She cursed both her attacker for  
causing the extraordinary amount of pain and berated  
herself for not keeping her eyes open for the second  
guy.  
  
She caught sight of the second guy out of the corner of  
her eye, his fist flying towards her prone form. His face  
was twisted in a grimace, his charcoal eyes a glittering  
evil. Her training kicked in and she instinctively rolled  
away from the danger. Sara dropped to the floor onto  
outstretched hands, hearing rather than seeing the fist  
connect with the coffee table.   
  
"One down, one to go," she thought to herself, thinking  
that her chances of winning this originally unbalanced  
fight were increasing. Her training would give her an  
unsuspected advantage. As she threw herself into the  
battle, her opposition quickly realised that this woman  
knew how to handle herself.   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Sara caught sight of  
Lindsay standing in the doorway, her blue eyes  
enormous in a pallid face.   
  
"Lindsey, hide!" Sara called out, her breath coming out  
in short bursts. She was so intent on the child that she  
forgot to duck when a fist came soaring towards her.   
The little girl remained frozen to the spot. She watched  
in fear as a fist caught Sara in the face, squarely on top  
of the damage inflicted by Eddie earlier in the day.  
  
Her head kicked back under the force, but it was a  
surprise when the back of her head connected with  
something solid, sending a shower of stars across her  
vision before it dimmed and faded. Sara's feet  
crumpled beneath her and as she fell to the floor. Her  
head connected with the coffee table as she collapsed.  
  
"What the hell is going on in here?" Dimly, she heard  
the voice penetrate the darkness. She frowned, trying  
to avoid the ebbing tide of darkness reaching out about  
her and caressing her with fingers of tenderness,  
saving her from the searing pain filling her head.  
  
"Is it so difficult to get a nine year old?" With those  
final words and the sound of Lindsey's scream,  
consciousness eluded Sara.  
  
End Part 3/? 


	4. Chapter 4

Many thanks once again to Alison (VIgirl) for her wonderful editing.  
  
CHAPTER 4:   
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers:  
  
Catherine drummed her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. She  
couldn't see what the hold-up in the traffic was, but whatever the cause, it had  
managed to slow down two lanes of usually fast flowing traffic to a snail's pace  
crawl. She regretted her impulse to buy extra food. While she was in the  
grocery store, she had though that it would be nice to invite Sara to stay for  
lunch. Since Grissom was also coming to collect Sara, there would not be  
enough food in the house, so Catherine had picked up a variety of salad items.  
  
Looking at the digital clock on the dashboard, she checked the time against the  
watch on her wrist. It was still correct and she realised that Lindsay was going  
to be late for school. Rifling through her handbag on the seat beside her,  
Catherine pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed dial for home. The phone  
rang four times before the answering machine kicked in.  
  
"Sara, will you pick up the phone?" Catherine waited expectantly for the  
receiver to be picked up, giving her colleague time to move from wherever she  
was in the house.  
  
"I'm caught in traffic. I'm not sure how long it will take, but I've only got a couple  
of streets before I can deviate out of this mess and take some back-streets  
home. Hopefully I'll be there in ten." Catherine frowned. She had been sure  
Sara would pick up during her message, but there was nothing. "Thanks,  
Sara. See ya soon."  
  
Catherine's mind began to churn over all the reasons Sara, or for that matter  
Lindsey, had not picked up the phone. A gnawing fear began to eat at her  
stomach as worrisome scenarios of Lindsey becoming ill or injured somehow  
and Sara having to race down to the hospital played through her mind. She  
realised deep down inside that she was probably worrying unnecessarily and  
the two of them were so engrossed in the television that they hadn't heard the  
phone.  
  
She remembered suddenly that Sara had mentioned she had a meeting she  
had to go to. But Sara had said the meeting was "later". Catherine had  
interpreted it as being either late morning or early afternoon. Sara couldn't  
possibly have gone to the meeting and left Lindsey at home alone, could she?   
After eight painstakingly long minutes, she was able to turn down a side street  
and weave her way through residential streets to her own house.  
  
Catherine parked the car and gave the handbrake a firm tug as she turned off  
the engine. She exited the car quickly and walked up the path towards her front  
door, the small bag of groceries balanced on her hip.  
  
A drop of blood on the concrete caught her eye and she frowned. She knew  
the blood splatter hadn't been there when she left earlier. Her breath caught  
in her throat as she bent down to inspect the blood drops; the blood was fresh.   
Mouth slightly open, eyes focused intently on the path ahead, Catherine slowly  
rose to her feet. More drops of blood trailed towards the house and a single  
partial footprint of blood was outlined, leading away from the house towards the  
street. Her heart ran cold and her fingers went numb with fear. Her handbag  
and shopping bag fell to the ground with a crash, the milk carton exploding on  
impact and sending a flood of white, frothy liquid over the path.   
  
Catherine ran to the door and pushed it open, subconsciously noting the  
physical damage to the door - several dirty footprints marred its surface and  
the safety chain lock had been ripped from its hinges.   
  
"Lindsey!" Catherine dully realised that her voice was screeching, panic quickly  
setting in. The hallway and family room bore evidence of a fierce struggle.   
Blood splatter marred the cream, single twist-loop carpet in two distinct areas.   
Seeing the damage, Catherine ran through the house, searching each room  
for her daughter, calling out her name in desperation. Her voice became  
hoarse, Lindsey's name died on her lips as she returned to the family room.  
She belatedly realised at the end of her fruitless search that not only was her  
daughter missing, but so was Sara.   
  
Catherine didn't know what to make of the damage to her house. Questions  
flooded her mind; Who had forced their way in? And why? Whose blood was  
on the floor? Were Lindsey or Sara injured? Where were they? Catherine felt  
overwhelmed and ill with dread.   
  
While still fearful of what had happened, clinical assessment of the scene  
around her began to sink in: the patch of wet carpet near the kitchen, a large  
blood splatter nearby, her badly dented kettle lying on the floor in the family  
room and the blood on the coffee table as well as the floor beside it. And a  
piece of paper. Catherine frowned. There hadn't been paper on the table when  
she left.   
  
Carefully walking around the scene, Catherine bent down to take a closer look.   
It was sitting in the blood. She resisted the urge to pick it up, its appearance  
enough to warn her that this was serious. The few cut and pasted words that  
she was able to read without picking it up held an ominous warning. 'We ...  
daughter... husband pay ... owed or.... conseq...'  
  
Catherine's hands were shaking badly as she raced back towards the front  
path where she had dropped her bag. Digging through it, she frantically  
searched for her cell phone and hit the speed dial for Grissom.  
  
"Grissom," Grissom answered the phone distractedly, his attention focused on  
the orange-kneed tarantula that was walking gently over his hand. He was  
slumped back in his seat, enjoying the silent peace that permeated the office  
at the end of a busy shift and waiting for sufficient time to elapse before  
heading to Catherine's house.  
  
"They've taken her. Gil, they've got her." Catherine held her hand to her  
mouth, her lips quivering as her worst fears had come to fruition.  
  
"Catherine...calm down." Catherine's distraught voice caused Grissom to sit  
up suddenly, scaring the delicate spider with the sudden motion, its hair  
standing on end. Grissom was confused by Catherine's statement. Her voice  
was frantic and rushed, the high pitched tone playing havoc with his hearing.   
He only caught a few of her words. "What's happened? Who's taken who?"  
  
"Gil, don't tell me to calm down. Lindsey's been kidnapped! There's a note.   
It looks like a ransom." Catherine rubbed her forehead, supporting one side of  
her face with her hand as full comprehension hit her: the worst fear a mother  
could have had just become reality.  
  
"What? Where are you?" His hearing picked up the words perfectly. He hoped  
that it wouldn't fade on him now. Catherine needed his full support; she  
needed him to be her rock. In all the years he had worked with her, he had  
never heard her this upset. Catherine wasn't one for hysterics and he knew  
the disappearance of her daughter was affecting her deeply. He felt the loss  
acutely as well; the blonde-haired child had claimed a special place in his  
heart. Just who had taken her, he didn't know, but he was determined that he  
was going to find out. It shook him that a crime that they would usually  
investigate had been suffered by one of their own.  
  
"At home." Catherine's voice caught in her throat as the tears filled her eyes,  
spilling over and down her face. "Gil, I only went out to pick up some milk... I  
got caught in traffic. When I got home both Lindsey and Sara were gone."  
  
"Lindsey and Sara?" Grissom's heart went cold when Catherine mentioned the  
second name. He had to take a deep breath to cope with the news. He  
closed his eyes and willed himself to stay calm. "Stay where you are. I'm  
coming with Nick and Warrick. I'll call Brass in. Catherine, stay outside the  
crime scene until I get there. Don't touch a thing. I'll be there straight away."  
  
"It's a bit too late for that," Catherine muttered more to herself than into the  
phone as Grissom cut off the call.   
  
Catherine paced outside the house, thinking. The note made reference to  
Eddie. She thought about the previous evening's altercation and the begging  
for the twenty-five thousand dollars. Eddie had mentioned that something  
could happen to him, but he'd never said about a threat to Lindsey. If anything  
happened to Lindsey, she'd kill Eddie when she got her hands on him.   
  
Dialling Eddie's home number, Catherine was invited to leave a message on  
his answering machine and his cell phone switched immediately to his  
messagebank. She paced the driveway, cursing his name along with herself  
for even going out and leaving Lindsey and Sara at home.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Grissom placed the phone down in its cradle, his hand resting on top of it as  
he tried to control the tidal wave of emotions plaguing him. He stared at the  
innocuous phone, the deliverer of the devastating news, knowing that he  
needed to call Brass, but unable for that moment to verbalise the reality of the  
situation he now was faced with.  
  
"Griss? Everything okay?"  
  
Grissom looked up at Warrick standing in the doorway, his forehead furrowed.   
His gaze was settled on the spider that was now walking its way across the  
desk.   
  
"No. No, it's not." Grissom said, easily capturing the spider and placing it back  
inside its glass house. "I need you and Nick to work a double. Do you know  
where he is?"  
  
"I think he's already left. What's the case?"  
  
"Kidnapping. Sara and Lindsey."  
  
"What?" Warrick's head snapped up in shock at the news. "When?"  
  
"Catherine just rang. They've both disappeared from her house this morning -  
a ransom note was left behind. I need someone out there straight away, but  
I still have to call Brass." Grissom wanted someone to be with Catherine and  
Warrick was the exact person he needed.   
  
"I'll call Nick and get out there immediately."  
  
"Wait for Brass and I to arrive before going inside." Grissom didn't specifically  
say that he wanted someone with Catherine, but Warrick picked up on his  
intent.  
  
"We'll secure the scene."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Warrick had given him the push he needed to get moving on the case. He  
quelled his fears for his CSI and Lindsey and made the call that would definitely  
give life to one of the worst cases he had ever investigated in his career. Not  
because of its scenario, but because it affected those close to him.  
  
"Brass," Brass answered his cell phone curtly, his surly attitude the result of  
a hard night with four homicides, one of which Sheriff Mobley was riding him  
hard to get a result on.  
  
"Jim, I've got a double kidnapping." Grissom kept his tone even, not allowing  
his voice to betray the deepset worry that tormented him.   
  
"Since when have you been getting the low down on crime."  
  
"Since the victims are Sara Sidle and Lindsey Willows."   
  
"Catherine's kid?"   
  
"Yes. Can you get over to Catherine's place - 21B Cyprus Drive? We need to  
get there while the evidence is fresh. There's a ransom note."  
  
"Heading there right now."   
  
"Thanks."  
  
Grissom collected his fully prepared field kit and went to collect the ALS,  
electrostatic lifter and the 'nose'. This case was going to utilise the entire  
range of the CSI labs equipment. As he passed the DNA lab, he heard Greg's  
punk rock music pounding out its beat. Grissom didn't even bother saying a  
word until he had switched off the pulsating music, the young man dancing to  
the tune while capably attending to the more mundane tasks involved in his job.  
  
Greg stopped mid-turn, his mouth frozen part way through the song as he took  
stock of his boss' ashen expression.  
  
"Greg, how's your course going?"  
  
"Great," Greg answered, surprised. Of all the questions that Grissom could  
have asked, this was one of the last on his list.  
  
"How would you like to practice your new skills?" Grissom realised that they  
would need another pair of hands and ever since they had investigated the  
multiple fatality bus crash last year, Greg had wanted to increase his skills in  
other areas so that he could assist in major cases where the graveyard shift  
needed extra assistance.  
  
"At a real crime scene?" Greg couldn't believe his luck; an opportunity to get  
out of the lab and do some real CSI work.   
  
"Yes. We're short two CSIs."   
  
"Why?" Greg frowned. Being short one was not uncommon, but two CSIs  
was highly unusual. Then again, it looked like Grissom's crew was working a  
double.  
  
"We've got a double kidnapping. Lindsey Willows and Sara."  
  
"Our Sara?" Greg felt as if he had been kicked in his gut.   
  
"Yes."   
  
Now Greg understood the ashen expression on Grissom's face. Right now,  
Greg knew that his own face probably reflected the same distress.  
  
"C'mmon Greg, you're with me."   
  
Greg didn't ask any further questions, but followed his curly-haired boss down  
the hallway to the garage.   
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Grissom parked the Tahoe out in the street, just outside the yellow crime  
scene tape harnessing the driveway to Catherine's house. The sight sent a  
chill down his spine.   
  
Normally he allowed the other CSIs to drive him to a crime scene, but he didn't  
quite possess the same faith and trust in Greg. Grissom wasn't sure if it was  
related to the incidents where he'd caught Greg dressed up in some very  
interesting hair accessories, dancing to the pulsating music vibrating through  
his lab or limited to the fact that he'd never been subjected to Greg's driving  
outside the lab.  
  
They hopped out of the Tahoe and went to the back of the vehicle. Greg  
reached in to take out the ALS.  
  
"Leave the other equipment here for the moment," Grissom said, shaking his  
head. He handed Greg a field kit. "We'll just take our field kits to start off with."   
  
  
Grissom ducked under the yellow tape and Greg followed closely on his heels.   
He was unsure of what he had to do and wanted to only please the man whom  
he respected, but who at the same time brought all his insecurities to the  
surface. The fact that this crime involved Sara and Lindsey had silenced  
Greg's usual expositions.   
  
From the moment Grissom had arrived, he had been assessing the scene.   
Each detail etched itself in his mind's eye and created the basis on which he  
would expand as the evidence was processed. A cigarette butt tossed into the  
garden bed alongside the driveway caught his attention. It could be nothing; it  
could be vital.   
  
"Nick!" Grissom called out to the dark-haired Texan standing on one side of  
Catherine. Warrick stood on the other side, his hand gently cupping  
Catherine's elbow as he talked softly to her.  
  
Her head rose at the sound of his voice. Grissom could clearly see the vivid  
trails from tears marring her usually flawless complexion. Her eyes were red  
and puffy, a man's handkerchief gripped tightly in a clenched fist.   
  
"Grissom." His name floated off Catherine's tongue, the relief at his arrival  
evident in her change in posture. Despite the fact that Warrick, Nick and Brass  
were there, it seemed that she had been waiting anxiously for him to arrive.   
  
Catherine pulled out of Warrick's grasp and ran down the driveway to meet  
him. The men followed at a slower pace.  
  
"Catherine, we're going to find her," Grissom reassured her as he placed his  
field kit down on the ground and caught her in a comforting embrace. It was  
what they both needed right now, seeking solace in each other over the loved  
one they had each lost.   
  
Grissom was confident that they would locate Sara and Lindsey; it was the  
state that they might be in when they found them that had him terrified. He  
hugged Catherine closer to him as this thought crossed his mind.  
  
Catherine just nodded in response to his placating words and broke out of the  
uncharacteristic embrace. She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief and  
sniffed. Catherine knew the truth - the success rates on these type of cases  
were fifty-fifty and knew the danger to Lindsey and Sara was very real.   
  
"Nick, there's a cigarette butt in the garden. Process it." Grissom took control  
of the scene, eager to get some answers and start working towards finding  
Sara and Lindsey.  
  
"Onto it right away, Boss." Nick jumped at the chance to be able to start doing  
something towards finding Lindsey and Sara. Ever since Warrick rang him,  
Nick had struggled to comprehend that both of them had been taken; and it  
looked as if one or both of them had been injured in the kidnapping. The  
mundane task of collecting evidence would at least stop the vivid scenes  
flashing through his mind.  
  
"Can you tell me what happened? Take it slowly and tell me everything - every  
minute detail." Grissom turned back towards Catherine, his eyes firmly fixed  
on her face and concentrated intently on what she would possibly reveal.   
  
Catherine ran through the details from the time she arrived home until when  
she had returned, trying to remember each specific stage of her journey,  
knowing how important little details can be to this type of case.  
  
"Was there a car in the street?" Brass asked.  
  
"Several," Catherine nodded her head, recalling driving down the street with  
Sara. They were talking amiably in the car about meaningless things, but she  
recalled exactly where each car was located, its colour and even the make and  
model. It was something that had become intuitive to her, not only because of  
her job but due to Eddie's adoration of cars.   
  
"Any of the cars out of the ordinary?"  
  
Catherine blew her nose delicately. She thought about them all, trying to  
pinpoint which car belonged to whom. There was only one that she could not  
place to any particular neighbour, one that even by its description sounded  
ominously suspicious.  
  
"There was one car. A Cadillac. I'm sure it was black with dark tinted  
windows. You couldn't see anyone inside. It was there when I came home  
with Sara, but was gone when I returned from the store."  
  
"Any chance you saw the licence plate number?"  
  
"No. I wasn't paying that much attention." Catherine shook her head slowly.  
  
"Where was the car parked?"  
  
"Directly across the road from my driveway." Catherine pointed to a spot  
across the road from where they were standing.  
  
"Warrick, see if you can find any tire tracks from the car or any other evidence."  
Grissom wanted to get the processing underway now. The longer they left it,  
the more evidence they would possibly lose.   
  
Warrick nodded, heading off immediately to the designated area. His normally  
easy gait had been transformed into a stiff, soldier-like march. His emotions  
were being held tightly in check, but it would not take much to break the thin  
layer of control.   
  
"Nick, I want you to process out here. Get Warrick to give you a hand once  
he's finished on the road."   
  
"Greg, you're with me. We'll start on the house."  
  
Greg looked relieved to finally be assigned something to do. He was also  
pleased that he would get the opportunity to work with Grissom.  
  
"I'll help," Catherine said.  
  
"Catherine, you know you can't." Grissom shook his head, understanding her  
need to do something other than watch them work the case. As much as he  
wanted to utilise her expertise, he was well aware of the legal ramifications.   
"I know you want to be in on the investigation, but it's your child who's involved.   
You know as well as I do that you'll taint the evidence."  
  
"At least I'd know exactly what's going on," Catherine grumbled. She knew that  
she wouldn't be able to be involved in the case. But now she now knew how  
the victim's family felt when they investigated, having to stand around and  
watch, unable to do anything towards finding either the victim or the suspect,  
whatever the case may be. It was heart-breaking to know that Lindsey was out  
there, possibly injured, being used as a bargaining chip.   
  
"I'll keep you informed," Grissom reassured her, placing a hand on her  
shoulder. "You'll know everything that's happening."  
  
"Promise?" Catherine's eyes shone with more unshed tears.   
  
"Of course. This is Lindsey." Grissom gave her a small smile, encouraging  
her to trust him and their ten year friendship. "Wait out here. Keep an eye on  
the scene out here."   
  
Grissom inclined his head towards Greg, indicating that he should follow him  
into the house. Brass trailed along behind the two CSIs. His officers had  
secured the scene, but since Catherine had scoured the house for the  
perpetrators and found none, they had remained outside.  
  
"Greg, leave your kit out here. I need you to take photos." Grissom handed  
him the camera. "You know the protocol - take multiple overall locator shots  
and close-ups. Start with the door."  
  
"There were two of them. Whoever it was meant business," Brass  
commented, referring to the large footprints that had been left on the door.   
  
"Maybe not. Maybe they expected the job to be easy and it became difficult."   
Grissom inspected the damage to the lock and the security chain, already  
beginning to put together a chain of events. He could easily imagine how the  
attack had started. Doorbell ringing, Sara answering the door but keeping the  
safety chain secured, thwarting the kidnappers attempts at easy access to the  
house.  
  
"Because of Sara?" Greg asked as he took a close-up shot of the security  
chain and the broken hinge on the door jam.  
  
"She put up a hell of a fight," Brass said as they inspected the hallway, kitchen  
and living room.  
  
"Hmm." Grissom wasn't too sure he was happy that she had, knowing that the  
likelihood was that she had been injured during the attack and the blood on the  
floor would belong to her. He bent down and looked closely at the kettle on the  
ground. Large dents had changed its shape dramatically. There was no blood  
or strands of hair present. Grissom could only hope that Sara had been the  
one wielding the kettle. He gingerly placed the kettle into a paper evidence  
bag.  
  
Not far from where he sat on his haunches, he saw the note. Grissom  
indicated for Greg to take a photograph before he gingerly retrieved the piece  
of evidence, opening the note with his gloved hands.   
  
Brass read its contents over his shoulder. "We have taken your daughter.   
Either you or your husband pay us what we are owed or your daughter will  
suffer the consequences."  
  
Grissom felt the coldness that had gripped his heart ever since Catherine's  
call, pervade the rest of his body. His mind didn't slow as his breathing did; he  
quickly realised that Sara had never been intended to be part of the kidnapping.   
She had been an unexpected hindrance to the thoroughly planned abduction  
of Lindsey.   
  
He imagined the two men sitting in the car, waiting for Catherine to arrive home  
from work.  
  
"She's late."  
  
"She'll be here."  
  
"Here's the car now." Both men hunkered down in their seats, reducing their  
visibility both to the car and of the occupants inside.  
  
One of the men moved to get out.   
  
"No," a hand stopped him. "We'll wait another twenty minutes. The baby-sitter  
will have left and there'll be less chance of being seen by the neighbours  
heading off to work. Then we can grab the kid and make sure Mom knows we  
mean business."   
  
Grissom shook his head, trying to clear the vivid image from his mind.   
  
"Does Catherine know how much money they want?" Grissom asked.   
  
"I haven't asked," Brass told him. "You do realise that Mobley will push your  
shift off the case."  
  
"No. Not a chance Ecklie is taking control of this."  
  
"Just warning you in advance so you're not taken by surprise."   
  
Greg made his way around the scene, placing the square ruler down beside  
each piece of evidence he photographed and making sure each photo recorded  
the date, time and case identifier number. Normally he would have been  
bouncing around, enjoying the opportunity to get out of the lab and gain more  
experience. His enjoyment had been quashed, knowing that Sara was the one  
who had been taken, and obviously hurt in the process.  
  
"Grissom, there's a print here - in the blood, and some hair," Greg called out,  
breaking up the tense moment between the two men.   
  
Grissom hurried over to take a closer look. The blood stain was on the corner  
of coffee table. Inspecting the blood stain, Grissom was able to also see the  
fine, long hairs stuck to the sticky substance.   
  
"You've taken pictures?"  
  
"Yep," Greg confirmed, nodding his head. "Got multiples."  
  
Using tweezers, Grissom removed the hairs from the blood inspecting it  
closely. They were dark and long, most likely Sara's. Skin tags were  
connected to each; the attack had been violent.   
  
Grissom pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly to the side as he looked at  
the fingerprint in the blood. Taking a swab of the blood away from the print and  
labelling it, he thought about how he would process the print. If his guess was  
right, it wasn't just a single print. Pulling out his red creeper print power,  
Grissom carefully dusted beside the single bloody print, the powder quickly  
revealling a series of fingerprints.  
  
"Red creeper... " Greg whispered.  
  
Grissom didn't acknowledge his comment, but remembered the last time he  
had employed the use of his red concoction. He had handed the jar to Sara  
telling her "serious case, serious print powder." Remembering the smile she  
had rewarded him with, he hoped that he would get the chance to see her  
smile again; to tell her what she needed to hear.  
  
Grissom realised that Greg was looking at him with a strange expression on  
his face. Grissom pulled himself together, lifted the clear prints onto the double  
sided tape and labelled them clearly. Hopefully whoever left the prints on the  
table had a police record. It would narrow down their investigation quickly.  
  
Brass wandered around the room, looking for more evidence. He spotted  
Sara's cell phone on the floor in the kitchen and crouched down beside it.   
  
"Sanders. This one too." Brass called out.  
  
Greg moved over beside Brass and took more shots, making sure to obtain  
locator as well as close-ups, ensuring that every piece of photographic  
evidence would be viable.  
  
"What have you got, Brass?" Grissom asked as he placed the fingerprint  
evidence into his aluminum case.  
  
"A cell phone." Brass pulled on a latex glove over his broad hand. "A  
disconnected call..." Brass pressed the end key. The automatic saving  
system brought the last number dialled up on screen, asking whether the cell  
phone owner wished to store the number. "She called 911."  
  
End Part 4/? 


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5:   
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers  
  
Grissom walked down the hallway. It gave him a sense  
of dislocation to hear the usual sounds that occupied the  
halls of the CSI building daily. On the one hand, he was  
grateful to be able to hear every individual sound without  
feeling like he was caught in a riptide, struggling to break  
free of the water dragging him under and away from the  
steadfast rock of his foundation. On the other, he  
couldn't help wanting to shout out that life had no right to  
go on as if nothing had happened - they were missing...  
Sara had been taken from him.  
  
Head downcast, Grissom began to compile in his mind  
the possible evidence that had been gathered at the  
crime scene. He was about to enter the conference  
room when the voice of the newscaster caught his  
attention. He stopped abruptly in the doorway. His eyes  
were drawn to the television mounted to the ceiling in the  
corner of the room. The familiar figure of Paula Francis  
was on the screen.  
  
"We have a breaking story here... A Las Vegas criminalist  
has been abducted from her home. We go now to Shane  
Green at the scene."  
  
The screen crossed over to show the driveway leading to  
Catherine's home, sealed from the public and inquiring  
media by the customary yellow and black crime scene  
tape. The dark-haired reporter launched into his  
presentation.  
  
"Initial reports are that Sara Side, a criminalist with the Las  
Vegas Police Department was abducted from this house this  
morning together with the nine year old daughter of a  
colleague. Details are sketchy at this stage and there is no  
information as to whether the abduction is related to a current  
case under investigation."   
  
Grissom entered the conference room as the reporter  
said his last sentence. He grabbed the television control  
from off the table and pressed the button. The screen  
turned blank and all eyes turned to him before quickly  
dropping to avoid direct contact.  
  
He was the last of his team to enter. Silence greeted  
him. As Grissom sat down, he swept his eyes over them  
all. Warrick's body was pitched forward, elbows resting  
on the table, downcast eyes scanning the evidence  
before him. Nick was slumped in his seat, fingering the  
edge of the file. He was obviously avoiding the contents,  
avoiding the reality that the crime had touched one of  
their own. Greg was also slumped down in his chair, his  
quietness a clue to how the very nature of this crime  
affected him. Then there was Brass, his normally laid-  
back attitude zinged with energy, determination filling his  
rounded face.   
  
It was obvious that he needed to make his team a team.   
They were missing two key members, which was  
seriously affecting them all. But if they were to continue  
to process this crime, they would need to operate  
cohesively and with the precision of a well-oiled machine.   
Grissom realised that he was going to have to be the oil  
to keep the machine working smoothly.  
  
"Catherine's sister is staying with her. What I want to do  
is run a chronology of the crime scene and what we have  
so far. Warrick, let's start with you."  
  
Warrick looked up, his eyes blinking a moment as he  
absorbed the request. "The tire tracks I found on the  
road are unusual. They match with Goodyear Eagle F1.   
While designed to fit a wide range of vehicles, the make  
was only released two weeks ago on the market.   
Another interesting point is the width of the tires. The  
prints match a 225/50ZR16 tire. Not a commonly used  
size by the average consumer. I've got Travis chasing  
up the local dealers for details of all recent sales on this  
tire."   
  
Warrick pulled out the photograph of the tire track he had  
obtained from the scene. The blown up shot clearly  
showed the tread and its rather unique pattern. He also  
produced a copy of a recent promotional piece by the  
company which detailed the pattern. A perfect visual  
match.   
  
"The other tire impressions I found were in the driveway  
and in the centre of the road. Whoever it was reversed  
out of there like a bat out of hell. Left perfect prints on  
the driveway, although the tread is common to many four  
cylinder vehicles - Aquatred 3. But one of the left tires  
has a nail in it." Again, Warrick placed the photographs  
on the table in front of him with the comparative match.   
  
  
"Slow leak," Nick murmured under his breath, relieved at  
having something to tie the kidnapper to the crime.  
  
"Once we have the suspect's vehicle that evidence is  
going to be crucial," Grissom pointed out. "Nick."  
  
Nick sat up at the sound of his name, pulling himself  
immediately into action. "Greg's still working on the DNA  
from the cigarette butt against the blood you found at the  
house. It'll be a few more hours before we'll have a  
comparison."   
  
Nick tossed out some crime scene photographs, using  
his pen to point to each individual one as he detailed the  
contents. "Footprints on the door were size ten and  
twelve. One had part of the maker's name left in the  
imprint. They're handmade Italian imports. Sold in  
Vegas only to Vincenetti's. Tried to get details of the  
customers, but the owner is refusing to give anything  
without a warrant. Brass is working on it." Nick nodded  
towards the rotund homicide detective.  
  
"Should have it within twenty minutes. I've got Sam  
seeing the judge as we speak," Brass informed them.  
  
Nick continued, pushing the overlapping photographs  
apart and pulling the ones he wanted to the top of the  
pile. "The other footprints in the house can all be  
accounted for except for two. One was partially in the  
blood on the floor and the other was found in the hallway.   
They're not a match to the two on the door."  
  
"So we have four unidentified assailants," Grissom said  
to no one in particular, momentarily lost in thought. He  
caught himself quickly, not allowing his personal  
involvement to possibly jeopardise the investigation.   
Looking towards Brass, Brass picked up immediately on  
what he wanted.  
  
"Sam in the process of tracing a recording of the 911 call.   
It may give us more to go on. Interviews with neighbours  
haven't revealled much," Brass told them, tapping his  
gold pen against the folder in his lap. "Most weren't  
home at the time we did a door to door knock. We'll  
have to go back later tonight to follow up. However, one  
woman recalled hearing a scream. She went out to take  
a look, but only saw a car reversing out of Catherine's  
driveway and speeding off."  
  
"Any better description?" Grissom asked, grasping for the  
possibility of a stronger lead in which to trace the  
suspects.  
  
"Red Toyota Corolla. She only got part of the registration  
plate," Brass told him, happy to provide an ounce of relief  
to the man who had once been his sub-ordinate. He had  
noted the waxed look to Grissom's features and knew  
that the investigation was weighing down on him heavily.   
  
  
"I take it you're running a trace," Grissom said, his eyes  
questioning Brass over the top of the glasses perched on  
the end of his nose.  
  
"As we speak."  
  
"Greg," Grissom said his name curtly, his tone trying to  
convey that he wanted answers not expositions.  
  
"The blood on the coffee table and floor was a type  
match for Sara's. The one in the hallway was different..."   
  
  
"How'd you get a comparison?" Warrick broke into the  
dissertation and sat up straight, his mind trying to come  
up with an explanation.  
  
"The blood on the paper towels from Eddie's attack on  
her last night," Grissom told the group calmly.  
  
"Oh... Is this tied in to what happened last night?" Nick  
asked, his face genuinely surprised. It had not even  
crossed his mind that the two could be related.  
  
"I believe so. I spoke with Catherine earlier," Grissom  
informed them. "Eddie came to ask Catherine for money  
last night. He was being hounded for twenty thousand  
dollars."  
  
"So we know who has Sara and Lindsey." Warrick  
immediately felt relief that they were going to be able to  
find them soon. Eddie would be able to provide them  
with the name of the extortionist and it would all be  
finished.  
  
"No. Eddie never said who he owed the money to and  
she can't find him now," Grissom informed them matter-  
of-factly, despite the fact his insides were churning as to  
how close they could be to finding the two.  
  
"And she didn't ask?" Nick queried.  
  
"No. She didn't realise that Lindsey was in danger."   
  
"Damn." Warrick said, his closed fist hitting the top of the  
conference table with force.  
  
"Warrick." Grissom's tone pulled the younger man back  
into line.  
  
"Sorry, Griss. It's just..." Warrick searched for words to  
explain how he was feeling, how he was thinking about  
Catherine and what she would be experiencing right now.   
"I can only imagine how Catherine's feeling right now....  
wishing she had asked."  
  
"We've got leads... we all know how important the first  
hours are in a kidnapping. There's a tap on Catherine's  
phone... " Brass began reassuring the group. A knock on  
the window interrupted him.  
  
Red-haired Sheriff Mobley stood in the doorway. "Gil,  
can I speak to you for a moment."  
  
Grissom rose slowly from his seat. He recalled Brass'  
warning earlier that morning. Behind the Sheriff,  
Grissom narrowed his eyes when he noticed that Conrad  
Ecklie was hanging around like a bad smell. While  
Grissom could cope with most decomposing matter,  
Ecklie's vampiristic attachment to cases in the media  
spotlight managed to break through even his cast iron  
resistance. He realised that Brass had called the shots  
accurately. He was prepared for the impending battle  
ahead. Keeping a tight rein on the anger boiling  
precariously below the surface, he excused himself from  
his team.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Catherine, here's some tea," Jennifer McNab placed the  
steaming brew under her sister's nose. She had tried to  
get Catherine to lie down and sleep, to no avail. Tear  
tracks marred the usually perfect make-up and red eyes  
greeted her whenever they looked up to meet her own.  
  
Catherine wrapped her long fingers around the large mug  
with a cartoon on the front. Something about all the good  
men being either married or gay. The joke hardly  
registered in her fog-laden brain. She sipped the brew  
and the sharp sweetness got her attention.  
  
"How many sugars did you put in that?" Catherine asked,  
pushing the tea away and shaking her head in disgust.  
  
"Three and you need it, so drink up." Jennifer pushed the  
drink back towards her.  
  
The sharp trill of Catherine's cell phone broke their  
impasse.   
  
"I'll answer it. You drink some of that tea," Jennifer  
commanded her younger sister. It wasn't often that she  
took control. Catherine recognised the impenetrable  
wall and slowly sipped the sickly, sweet tea.   
  
Jennifer moved from her seat and picked up the cell  
phone on the kitchen bench.  
  
"Hello," Jennifer answered. She broke off as she was  
rudely interrupted. "I'll get her for you."   
  
Jennifer walked the phone over to Catherine. She  
handed her sister the small portable phone, saying softly   
"Someone asking for you."  
  
"Who is it?"   
  
"Don't know. Ask them." Jennifer sat down and listened  
unabashedly to the one-sided conversation.  
  
"Catherine Willows." Catherine answered the phone more  
tentatively, the abduction of her daughter making her  
suspicious of everything and everyone around her.  
  
"Mommy."  
  
"Lindsey!" Catherine leaned back in her seat with a  
sense of relief. Her daughter was alive! "Are you all  
right? Are you hurt?"  
  
"No, Mommy. I've had KFC and ice cream and they've  
let me watch Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,"  
Lindsey detailed excitedly, the words were strung  
together almost as if they were one . "Mommy, Sara was  
hurt."  
  
"Is Sara okay?" Catherine asked, fear for her colleague  
flooding her words.  
  
"Sara isn't here, Mommy. They left her in the house.   
She was bleeding..." Lindsey's voice suddenly cut off  
mid-sentence to be replaced with a deep-set, villainous  
one.  
  
"That's enough. Now you know she's alive and being  
treated okay. It's your turn..."  
  
"Where's Sara?" Catherine interrupted the man. The  
words that Lindsey had said were beginning to sink  
through the thankfulness that her daughter had not been  
harmed. "What've you done with her? "  
  
"Sara? Who's Sara?"  
  
"The woman who was with my daughter when you took  
her. You'd hurt her."  
  
"She was one tough cookie. Nearly took out two of my  
guys. Wished she was on my side..." There was almost  
an air of wistfulness in the tone as the admiration for  
Sara's actions. " We left her on the floor. She was  
unconscious."  
  
Catherine was worried. If the man's words were correct,  
then who had taken Sara?   
  
The deep voice broke through her thoughts. "Enough of  
this. It's your turn to return the favour for us keeping  
your daughter safe. We want our money and we want it  
today. You tell that low-life husband..."  
  
"Ex-husband," Catherine automatically corrected him, her  
hand slapping instantly over her mouth the instant the  
words were said. The nature of their exact relationship  
was unimportant right now.   
  
"Ex-husband of yours that if I don't have the cash by 9.00  
a.m. tomorrow, things may not be so nice for your little  
girl." The deep resonating voice continued as if she  
hadn't interrupted, other than the correction to his words.   
  
  
"You do anything to her and you'll pay..."  
  
"No, the reason we have her is so that you will," the  
intimidating voice reminded her. "We want our twenty  
thousand by 9.00 a.m tomorrow."  
  
"How do I know where to pay the money?"  
  
"Ask your husband."   
  
"But I can't find him..." Catherine found that she was  
talking to a dead line... the call had been disconnected  
before she could tell them. She held onto the phone  
numbly, shocked at the content of the call sinking in.   
Despair filled her as she realised that her ability to  
comply with the request was impossible. Not from a  
financial standpoint, but because she didn't know who  
Eddie owed the money to.   
  
"Cath, what happened? What did they say? When's  
Lindsey coming home?" Jennifer was desperate for her  
sister to break free of her horrified trance and speak.   
She knew that this call had placed her sister in more  
troubled waters, but needed to know the full implications  
in order to support her through this crisis.   
  
Catherine tuned out her sister's questions, twisting the  
phone over in her hand. She tried to swallow down the  
heavy ball of fear that was clogging her throat. Despite  
the fact that she thought she had cried herself dry,  
Catherine found tears filling her eyes once again.   
Lindsey was okay, but she was in immediate danger.   
The kidnappers threat was not an idle one. Sara was  
missing. Shaking her head, wanting some reassurance,  
Catherine hit number one on her speed dial.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
As soon as Sheriff Mobley saw Grissom approaching he  
pulled his shoulders back, imagining that his large, barrel  
chest would provide him with more clout. He found  
himself at a loss to know how to control this investigator  
who challenged his authority, caring more for the solving  
of cases than the political ramifications of some of his  
investigations.  
  
"Why did I have to find out about the kidnapping of one  
of *your* CSIs from the media?" Mobley fired the  
question the moment that Grissom had shut the  
conference door behind him.  
  
"I sent an email advising you of the situation," Grissom  
told him shortly.  
  
"I don't check my email so early in the morning. You  
could have phoned me," Mobley pointed out.  
  
Grissom raised one eyebrow in response. He knew that,  
but kept his face neutral so as not to confirm precisely  
what he had avoided doing.   
  
Mobley chose to ignore the possibility that Grissom had  
thought to phone him and decided not to. "So who are  
the victims... I missed catching those details with all the  
questions being thrown at me this morning."  
  
"Sara Sidle and Lindsey Willows."  
  
"Sidle I know. The other one - any relative of Catherine  
Willows?"  
  
"Daughter," Grissom answered shortly.  
  
"Ecklie's team will have to take over the case. You're all  
to close to this one," Mobley determined, his tone  
begging for no argument.  
  
"No."   
  
"Gil..." Ecklie began, speaking for the first time.  
  
"Brian, the first twelve hours in a kidnapping are crucial.   
By the time Ecklie's team finds their asses, it'll be almost  
that deadline and it'll be 'home time' for his crew and  
they'll pack up and come back tomorrow. That is just not  
happening," Grissom told him aggressively.   
  
There was only one other time that Mobley had been  
witness to Grissom's wrath. The Strip Strangler case and  
Grissom's assessment had been accurate on that  
account.   
  
"Grissom, you are out of line..." Ecklie began, but his  
words were ignored.   
  
"Brian, these people are too important. I'm not risking  
them in someone else's hands." Grissom refused to  
back down.   
  
"My people are excellent investigators," Ecklie told  
Mobley.  
  
"Back off, Ecklie. This is my case," Grissom turned his  
back on the obnoxious man. A moment later though, he  
turned and acknowledged his presence. "Although, I  
could use one of your staff. Toby Wright."   
  
"You don't want my team, just one of them."  
  
"For now," Grissom agreed.  
  
"Gil, I can suspend you right now." Sheriff Mobley  
warned, seeking to get control over the situation once  
again. Somehow, it had all gone very differently from  
what he had imagined, as had every other stand-off he  
had had with Grissom.  
  
"Suspend me and I'll leave after I find them," Grissom  
warned. "And I'm going to find them. I've got a feeling  
that the rest of my team might just follow suit on this one.  
Brian, we have the case under control. We've got  
several leads that we're chasing up right now." Grissom  
broke off his argument as his cell phone began to ring.   
He excused himself from the two other men.  
  
"Grissom," he answered curtly. "Catherine, slow down.   
Take a breath. Okay, now tell me."  
  
He listened intently as Catherine slowly related the story  
of Lindsey's telephone call and the threat that had re-  
affirmed the contents of the ransom note.   
  
"Sara's not with her? Are you sure?" Grissom was  
confused. If Sara wasn't with Lindsey, what had  
happened to her? "Have you been able to find Eddie?"   
  
"Okay, come in and we'll go over the information and try  
to pinpoint what could've happened," Grissom instructed,  
finishing the call.  
  
Sheriff Mobley and Ecklie were both about to continue  
their discussion when Mandy came rushing towards  
them, a swath of print-outs in her hands.  
  
"Mr. Grissom."  
  
"Yes, Mandy." Grissom turned to face the fingerprint  
expert.  
  
"The fingerprint - I've got a match."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Eddie Willows."  
  
End Part 5/? 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6:   
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers  
  
Previous parts may be found at fanfiction.net; grissomandsara.com/fanfic and my website:  
  
www.geocities.com/missyliannem/csi.html  
  
And praise once again for our wonderful editor, Alison, who goes above and beyond the  
  
call of duty in this chapter. Thanks for all the work, Alison :)  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Greg laboured over the DNA machine, his chin resting on his folded hands. Silence  
  
reigned in the room, a testament to his mood. He hypnotically watched the machine spin,  
  
separating and dividing the samples into a basic thirteen individual marker sequence. It  
  
was too slow.   
  
Many times he had given Grissom the results produced by his magical machines, taking  
  
pride when the results would prove to be a crucial piece of evidence that would break a  
  
case. Now, more than ever, he needed to produce that evidence. It wasn't about Grissom  
  
acknowledging his work. This time it was about bringing back one of his friends.   
  
Sara had always taken his teasing and light-hearted advances with ease. She had never  
  
avoided coming into his lab, comfortably dealing with his innuendos with barbed words,  
  
designed not to hurt but to even the stakes. A tear came to his eye as he remembered  
  
how she had even taken the time to reassure him of his abilities. It had been at a time he  
  
had felt broken under the embarrassment of failure when placed in a situation outside his  
  
control and training.   
  
Sara had only been missing for hours, yet the lab seemed hollow, without substance. An  
  
essential part of Greg's world had been taken and he knew how much rode on the results  
  
contained in the machines that he had come to take for granted. He realized that he had  
  
also come to take Sara's presence for granted. Now it was gone, he wasn't sure whether  
  
life would ever be the same for him.  
  
Watching the machine spin around and around, his mind began to wander. The sights at  
  
the crime scene jumped forth into his thoughts, each piece of evidence further proof that  
  
the attack had been brutal. His mind actively went into overdrive, his imagination painting  
  
vivid pictures in his mind.   
  
He shook his head, dissolving the thoughts that Sara's disappearance might be  
  
permanent. Grissom was on the case. His solve rate was the best in the state. Any  
  
further thought on the subject was given up as the machine buzzed to indicate that its spin  
  
cycle was at an end. Not long now and he'd have the low down on the suspects.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Sara's first impression as she regained consciousness was the musty smell that assailed  
  
her nostrils. She frowned as she tried to work out where she was. The ground was cold  
  
and hard, yet the air in the room was warm. Flashes of the attack at Catherine's house  
  
flittered through her mind in random sequence. She couldn't recall at all how she had  
  
gotten here, wherever here was.  
  
It was black. Pitch darkness. Not a spark of light broke through the suffocating, heady  
  
air. Sara frowned, her mind still foggy. She tried to keep her breathing even as she  
  
realized that her mouth was covered firmly with duct tape. Her hands were bound tightly  
  
with rope in front of her, as were her feet. The reality of being bound cleared her fogged  
  
mind quickly. The events prior to losing consciousness were not totally clear, but she  
  
remembered enough to know who had delivered the final blow. It sent a chill down her  
  
spine when she saw the deep-set anger that had put so much power in the punch.   
  
Knowing that he would be returning, Sara decided that she needed to do something to  
  
protect herself. Sara strained her eyes to see. She didn't think that her eyes were  
  
covered with anything, yet she could not see a thing. . She pulled the heavy tape from her  
  
mouth, wincing as it pulled at the soft skin of her lips.   
  
  
  
Her head hurt as she struggled in the blackness. She brought her bound hands up to her  
  
head, her long fingers quickly locating the source of pain. Congealed blood from a  
  
laceration above her eye had left a sticky trail down the side of her face. She wiped with  
  
the back of her hands at her eyes. There was definitely nothing over her eyes and her  
  
actions cleared any possibility the blood had been causing her difficulty in seeing. There  
  
was still nothing, not even a faint glimmer of light to break through the darkness. It was  
  
then that it hit her; maybe it wasn't that the light was out, but her eyes were no longer able  
  
to see. The thought terrified her. More so than the pain in her side that made her  
  
breathing so terribly painful.   
  
"Think, Sara. Forget your fears and think logically. What would Grissom do?" Sara  
  
muttered to herself. Now that she had forced herself to stop and consider, her training  
  
kicked in. Sara began to determine her surroundings and the situation. She struggled  
  
against the constrictive bonds holding her arms. The only result was a severe chaffing to  
  
her wrists. It was pointless.  
  
Sara awkwardly pushed herself into a sitting position. Her ribs reminded her of the beating  
  
she had sustained at Catherine's house and it wouldn't surprise her if at least one of them  
  
was broken. Bringing her feet up as close as she could, Sara was able to release the  
  
knots on the bindings at her ankles. She let out the breath that she had been  
  
subconsciously holding and wiggled her toes, enjoying the tingling feeling that shot up her  
  
legs in response and reminded her that she was alive. Now all she had to do was make  
  
sure that it stayed that way.  
  
  
  
Gradually crawling across the concrete floor, she found herself relying on her other senses  
  
to create a plan of her prison in her mind. The floor was smooth. Sara could feel the thin  
  
layer of dirt that time had encrusted over the surface of the concrete. She grimaced. At  
  
a crime scene, she had the benefit of gloves and protective clothes and she could see  
  
what she was about to encounter. Nonoxynol-9 would definitely be given a good work-out  
  
when she finally made it out of here.   
  
Single sheets of newspaper littered the ground. Sara pushed them out of her way and a  
  
distinct smell permeated her senses. She was obviously sharing her quarters. All she  
  
needed to work out now was whether it was the larger or smaller version of the four legged  
  
rodent.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the edge of her room. Despite the crawl  
  
only being a distance she calculated of being just over five feet, she was exhausted. Sara  
  
leaned back against the wall. Her mouth was dry. Sara ran her tongue around the inside  
  
of her mouth. Her desire for water increased each passing moment in the humid room.   
  
  
  
There was a dampness seeping through the back of her thin shirt. While the air in the  
  
room was warm, the cold concrete quickly sent a chill through her body. She had no  
  
protection against the cold. Sara ran her hands lightly over its surface, trying to determine  
  
where she might be. Her left shoulder gave a twinge of pain in response. She sighed,  
  
wondering what had happened to it. She could account for all the other injuries, but not  
  
that one.   
  
As Sara sat catching her breath, she listened intently. A heavy, consistent rumble vibrated  
  
something in the room. The sound was familiar, so common that you no longer noticed  
  
it was there. An air-conditioning system. The relief from the air-conditioner was obviously  
  
going elsewhere.   
  
She continued her physical exploration, letting her fingers trail against the cool wall as she  
  
gingerly moved forward. Sara tried to concentrate on what her remaining four senses  
  
were detecting, formulating a detailed map of the room in her head.   
  
Her mind wasn't being quite as cooperative. It kept returning to another room, one which  
  
had changed the direction of her life. The sounds she had heard then were mixing with  
  
what she heard now. Sara put her hands up to her face as she did those many years ago.   
  
She was surprised to find her cheeks damp from tears.   
  
The uneven beat of feet hitting the floor outside the room she was held prisoner in quickly  
  
brought her back to the present. She found that the sound was coming from the other  
  
side of the room and sounded high above where she stood. The distance she had moved  
  
from her original position had been away from the door, not towards it. She also  
  
suspected that there was a staircase down into the room.   
  
A wave of dizziness swept over her and Sara was tempted to sit down back where she had  
  
been left. But, her anger won through and she remained firmly rooted where she stood.   
  
Her only concession to her unsteadiness on her feet was to lean slightly against the wall  
  
to her right. The coolness of the wall permeated through her top, allowing her to focus  
  
once again. She let her tied hands rest against the cold concrete wall seeking comfort in  
  
it's cool solidity. The touch reminded her of another solid constant in her life, one that kept  
  
her grounded and focused. In the dilemma she faced on her own, she needed to be  
  
reminded that there was promise of life beyond.  
  
The door opened, a stream of light shone down the staircase to the bottom, tapering into  
  
the darkness. Sara forgot for a moment of the precarious position she was in as she  
  
rejoiced in knowing that her lack of sight was due to darkness, not an injury. The door  
  
slammed shut, the sound echoing in the room. The sound of heavy shoes on the stairs  
  
reminded her quickly that she was about to meet the man who had put her here; a man  
  
who had told her of how she had ruined his chances of the new life he had planned.   
  
Eddie Willows was set on vengeance.   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The conference room was quickly becoming the central hub of activity. More and more  
  
information was filtering in from the various sections of the CSI labs. The white board was  
  
divided into crime scene descriptions, each listing what had been found, the results that  
  
were at hand and what they were still waiting for. While answers were coming through,  
  
there were still gaping holes. Evidence was still being processed, lab technicians working  
  
overtime to push the results through. The case was top priority.   
  
"The deadline is nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Lindsey's okay...for now." Catherine  
  
added the last words. Her daughter's upbeat voice had taken her by surprise and allayed  
  
her fears for the moment. Catherine closed her eyes as she thought how quickly the  
  
situation could change. "Twenty thousand dollars. I don't have that sort of money at  
  
hand."  
  
"You know that even if you gave them the money, you couldn't guarantee her safety,"  
  
Brass reminded her gently. He turned away from the whiteboard to watch her pace the  
  
room, his eyes watching her reaction.   
  
"I know, I know." Catherine reassured him. She swiveled around to face Brass, running  
  
her fingers through her hair. "But it's a bit harder to follow when it's your own child at  
  
stake."   
  
He nodded. He knew how hard it was to be objective on a case when it was family  
  
involved from first hand experience. At least Catherine was holding back, not insisting on  
  
being on the investigative team. While it made it harder not having the extra team  
  
member, it made it easier on the team they had left to work as one, not troubled by  
  
Catherine's emotional state in dealing with the evidence.   
  
"And Sara's not with her?" Grissom confirmed, still shocked by the recent news. It did  
  
begin to put one piece of evidence into place. His fingers rotated his pen between his  
  
middle and forefingers.   
  
"No." Catherine shook her head, dropping one hand down by her side. "Lindsey said that  
  
she'd been left at my house."  
  
"Catherine, we found some fingerprints at your house. They belong to Eddie." Grissom  
  
looked intently at Catherine, hoping that she would quickly process the information he was  
  
giving her.  
  
"What? How could that be? He's never been to the house," Catherine exclaimed, her  
  
voice rising with each word. In her heart, she knew the truth even as she questioned the  
  
news.  
  
"He was there today," Brass confirmed.   
  
"More importantly, he was there after Sara had been injured." Grissom drove the point  
  
home, dropping the photograph Greg had taken of the fingerprint on the coffee table. "His  
  
fingerprint was found in her blood."   
  
Grissom had always tolerated Eddie for Catherine's sake. He'd not had to keep up the  
  
pretense once she separated from him. Now that Eddie had Sara, his anger towards the  
  
man was rapidly increasing.  
  
Catherine swore as she picked up the photograph, repeating the word over and over. Her  
  
clinical eyes surveyed the photograph, picking out the clearly defined ridges that showed  
  
up and indicted her ex-husband as a criminal. She dropped the photo on the table as she  
  
brought her hands to her face and closed her eyes. The nightmare of her daughter's  
  
abduction had just gone from bad to worse; her friend and colleague was another victim  
  
in a violent and appalling crime.  
  
"Eddie took Sara. But why? What could he possibly gain?" Catherine shook her head  
  
as she tried to understand her ex-husband's motives. Catherine dropped into the seat  
  
as she recalled his final words to the team earlier that day. Sara would pay.... they would  
  
all pay. She remembered the dark anger that had filled his face. She had only witnessed  
  
it occasionally and she had worn bruises as a result. What would he do to Sara now that  
  
he had her alone?  
  
"I'm not sure. All we know is that Eddie was there after Sara was injured." Grissom  
  
watched his long term colleague struggle with the news. He could see how she was trying  
  
to assimilate the evidence with her own personal knowledge of the man.   
  
Brass added, "Lindsey and her kidnappers both have the same story that Sara was left  
  
behind. I'd say that the likelihood is that he is involved. Especially since we can't seem  
  
to locate him when we need him."  
  
"Damn you, Eddie. What the hell are you thinking?" Catherine rubbed a hand over her  
  
mouth, tapping her finger on her lip as she thought. "Oh, Eddie, you're such an idiot,"  
  
Catherine muttered under her breath. She tossed back her chair, frustrated, and resumed  
  
her pacing of the room. He was their only quick way to locate Lindsey's kidnappers and  
  
he had to go and disappear. What could he possibly gain from taking Sara? What was  
  
he planning to do to her? Would she fight back - silly question, this was Sara. Would she  
  
survive?   
  
"What do you know about the money he owes?" Mobley asked.  
  
"What?" Catherine broke out of her daunting thoughts and took a moment to think of the  
  
question the Sheriff had asked. "Nothing. Nothing at all. He came in last night asking  
  
for the twenty thousand dollars. He didn't say what it was for and I didn't ask. You  
  
learned not to ask with Eddie." Catherine was mad with herself for not asking him  
  
seriously what he wanted the money for. If only she hadn't been presumptuous in  
  
accusing him about the reason why he needed the money; maybe Lindsey and Sara  
  
wouldn't be in the situation they were facing.  
  
"Detective Lockwood is getting a warrant to search his premises and car as we speak."   
  
Brass' voice broke through Catherine's thoughts.   
  
Catherine shook her head. "I've got a set of keys to his house."  
  
"Why?" Mobley asked, curiosity filling his round face.  
  
"I'm his ex-wife and we share custody of our daughter," Catherine told him sarcastically.   
  
How could Mobley be concerned about why she had keys to her ex-husband's property  
  
when two people close to her had been taken.   
  
"It'll mean less damage to the property if he doesn't answer. But we still need the warrant  
  
to make any evidence found stick," Brass pointed out.  
  
"Dr. Grissom?"  
  
Grissom looked towards the doorway at the woman who had interrupted them. Judy, one  
  
of the secretaries stood at the entrance to the room, hesitant to enter.   
  
"Yes, Judy?" Grissom prompted when nothing further came from the woman's mouth.  
  
"This letter arrived for you by courier. The courier claimed it was urgent." Judy walked  
  
over to Grissom's side.  
  
Grissom frowned, reaching out for the yellow envelope. He scanned both the front and  
  
back of the envelope, only finding it addressed personally to him. His finger traced his lips  
  
as he analyzed the print. It had obviously been printed on an inkjet, the text smudged.   
  
He slipped his finger under the flap and removed the letter. He didn't think his heart could  
  
sink any further since Sara's disappearance, but this had just proven that it could. The  
  
letter fluttered from his hand to the table  
  
"Grissom..." Catherine knew that it wasn't good news.  
  
"It's a ransom - for Sara."  
  
Everybody moved in on the offending piece of paper, all eyes firmly fixed on the thin sheet  
  
of paper that had landed face up on the table. The words were written in large, bold type,  
  
their meaning unmistakable.  
  
"If you want to see your CSI alive, you'll have $30,000.00 left in a blue sports bag outside  
  
The Golden Nuggest at 3.00 p.m. today."  
  
"That's only two hours away," Catherine commented.  
  
Grissom pulled himself up in the chair. "Time in which we will process the evidence and  
  
find both Lindsey and Sara before either deadline arrives." His eyes glinted with  
  
determination.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The air tingled with tension. Both occupants were waiting for the other to make their  
  
move. A beam of light danced around the room in a myriad of directions, searching out  
  
and seeking what it could not seem to find.   
  
Sara realised with a smile what the problem was. The light from the staircase shone  
  
precisely on the spot where she had been trussed up like a pig awaiting a spit roast. The  
  
analogy sent her back a couple of years, her thoughts dancing over nights spent huddled  
  
under a blanket watching a pig slowly being disintegrated by natural processes. Sara had  
  
been touched by Grissom's actions, the painstaking and memorable experiment eventually  
  
leading to the Scott Shelton's arrest. She hoped that he was following the evidence right  
  
now and finding the connections. She wasn't sure that she would be able to escape Eddie  
  
Willows' anger another time.  
  
She heard the sound of his feet coming down the stairs, slowly; warily. Sara tucked  
  
herself back into the shadows, using the darkness that had recently been her enemy as  
  
a friend. She slowed her breathing and tried to remain calm. It was difficult with her mind  
  
constantly flicking back to her last encounters with Eddie, one in which she had come off  
  
second-best.  
  
Sara groaned, the effort of the small sound causing a sharp stabbing pain in her ribcage.  
  
She brought her arm around to gingerly touch the spot and flinched at even the slightest  
  
pressure against the area. Rolling to her side, she eased herself into a sitting position.   
  
The room swam before her eyes as if she was on a boat in a massive storm. Sara closed   
  
her eyes, her hand reaching out to hold onto the leg of the coffee table beside her.   
  
Gradually, she tried to open them again and was rewarded with a settling of the room   
  
around her.   
  
She felt the pulsating pressure building in her head, a warning signal of a migraine.   
  
She ran a hand over her forehead, as individual snapshots of the attack flashed in her   
  
mind. Suddenly, she swore out loud as she realized that she needed to find Lindsey.  
  
Sara had just managed to make it to her feet when there was a shout at the doorway.   
  
Eddie Willows barreled his way into the house, calling out for Catherine and Lindsey,   
  
stopping short when he saw Sara there.   
  
"Where are they?"  
  
Sara slowly responded, her words disjointed as she swayed on her feet. The hit to the   
  
back of her head had been hard "Who? There were some guys. They wanted   
  
something.... "  
  
"Why didn't you do something? You're with the police. You know what to do. You're   
  
trained. Why did you let them take them?" Her halting words seemed to set off a   
  
time-bomb within Eddie. The explosion surprised her and she instinctively cringed away   
  
from his dominating presence.   
  
Eddie moved closer to her with each verbal onslaught. He seemed to gain height and   
  
increase in size. But his last question permeated her sluggish brain. "Them? Lindsey   
  
was the only one here, no one else."   
  
"You let them take Lindsey. She's only eight - "  
  
"Nine. She's nine," Sara corrected.  
  
Sara was rewarded with a fast moving backhand across her face for her effort. It   
  
dropped her to her knees and blood flowed freely from her eyebrow where his heavy   
  
ring had broken the skin. Sara struggled against the darkness beckoning to her.   
  
The last words she heard were Eddie's.  
  
"Maybe you are the answer to all my problems."  
  
She was able to finally see the man searching for her and not his distorted shadow. The  
  
shadow reminded Sara of the other encounter with Eddie, how his body had loomed over  
  
her.   
  
Sara frowned, trying to gauge what had happened. Her head connected with   
  
something as movement caused the floor below her to dip. She realized that she was   
  
in a car. Worse than that, she was crammed into a tiny trunk. Every bone in her body   
  
ached as the car shuttled along, the lack of good suspension making each dip and   
  
pot-hole in the road absolute agony.   
  
She struggled to get her thoughts together as patchy parts of the attack at Catherine's   
  
house filtered through her addled brain. Her hands and feet were not bound. She felt   
  
around the trunk, finding only an oil rag and some rather obnoxious and smelly items.   
  
She didn't even want to think what they were. There were no tools whatsoever - not even   
  
a car jack.   
  
Sara rolled onto her side as the car suddenly pulled to a stop. She bit down on her   
  
lip as a lightning bolt of pain shot through her chest. She listened intently to the sounds   
  
around her. A car door slammed. It reverberated through her head, competing with the   
  
vice-like pain throbbing with every heartbeat. Somebody was moving around outside.   
  
Keys jangled in their hand. She didn't know who was outside. The last memory she   
  
had was of Eddie Willows. Did two plus two make four or was she jumping to conclusions?  
  
A key slid into the lock and Sara heard the latch open. She gathered her thoughts,   
  
quickly devising a plan in her mind. The trunk opened slowly. Sara's eyes darted   
  
around, finding her kidnapper. Bright sunlight obscured her vision, making it difficult for   
  
her to see his features. As he leaned over the edge of the boot, Sara screamed and   
  
lashed out with her feet. They connected solidly with his chest. He fell backwards from   
  
the car, surprised by the sudden and ferocious attack.  
  
Sara tried to get up out of the trunk. Adrenaline was running fast, but it failed to mask the   
  
sheer agony the swift movement brought. She cried out and stopped for a moment.   
  
Taking a deep breath, she consciously pushed past the pain and climbed out.   
  
While Sara's initial attack had been fast, her attacker had regained his senses and   
  
quickly subdued her. Her conclusion had been correct. It was Eddie Willows holding her   
  
tightly in his arms. Sara didn't recognize the area he had brought her. It seemed to be   
  
totally deserted. Her screams had not brought a soul into the street. She fought   
  
violently against the arms which held her tightly, throwing her whole body into the fight.   
  
Her head connected with Eddie's sending stars across her vision as a prelude to the   
  
darkness which followed.   
  
Right now, Sara vindictively hoped that he was hurting as much as she was from her  
  
injuries. The flashlight finally caught her in its beam, illuminating the paleness of her skin.   
  
Vivid bruises and streaks of blood marred her face. Blood had clotted heavily around the  
  
edges of the cut above her eye.   
  
"So you're awake," Eddie said. His voice sounded very nasally. The last blow that she  
  
had managed to inflict on him had connected with his broken nose. Sara had been lucky  
  
that she was already unconscious or she would have suffered dearly for the second hit,  
  
even if it had not been deliberate.  
  
"Obviously," Sara said with obvious disdain. While she was afraid of him and kept her  
  
distance, she wasn't going to let him know that he had frightened her.   
  
"I should have done those knots a bit tighter." Eddie gave a sidelong glance at the ropes  
  
on the ground where he had left her. He didn't trust Sara not to attack him again.   
  
"You could have saved yourself the trouble by not taking me." Sara took the chance to  
  
follow through on finding out what Eddie was up to. She didn't know if he would respond  
  
or not, but it was better than trying to second guess his actions. " What do you hope to  
  
gain, Eddie? Your daughter has been kidnapped and you go and take me... it's not going  
  
to achieve anything."  
  
"That's where you're wrong." Eddie moved closer to her. . "Taking you was pure  
  
inspiration."   
  
Eddie had taken on an air of arrogance and moved around the room proudly. Sara  
  
thought he reminded her of a peacock wooing its beloved mate.  
  
"Ah, how?" Sara said it gently, not wanting to have the violent reaction at Catherine's  
  
house repeated.   
  
"Well, I've sent a ransom for thirty thousand for you to your boss. Once I have that, I can  
  
pay back what I owe and have some left over for me to make a new start. Lindsey will be  
  
safe and everything can go back to normal."  
  
Sara shook her head, not believing the naivete of the man. How did he possibly believe  
  
that the ransom would be paid?  
  
Eddie had caught sight of the movement. He moved very close to her, his eyes narrowed.   
  
Sara automatically took a step back, only to find that the concrete wall prevented her  
  
moving any further. She was unable to keep the fear from her eyes as she lifted her chin  
  
defiantly.   
  
"It won't be paid. You do realize your ransom won't be paid. It's police policy." Sara was  
  
unable to stop herself from continuing, "Eddie, you've got no chance of a new start and  
  
you've just killed any chance of getting your life back on track."  
  
Sara saw the anger burst again. She cursed herself for not allowing Eddie the chance to  
  
gloat. She needed to get out of here right now. Lifting her knee, she connected painfully  
  
with Eddie's groin. As he bent over in pain, she shoved him violently sideways and ran  
  
towards the stairs.   
  
She made it to the top of the stairs and twisted frantically on the door knob. It didn't turn  
  
under her hands. Her breathing was laboured and her frustration boiled over. She hit the  
  
door with her clenched fists in anger and hot tears began to fall.   
  
"I'm not quite as stupid as you thought, am I?" Eddie's pained voice called out from the  
  
bottom of the stairs.   
  
Sara swung around quickly to face him. He began to climb the stairs, one at a time. He  
  
was hunched over, walking slowly and painfully towards her. For all her training in  
  
weaponless defense, she was struggling to overcome Eddie. Her injuries were interfering  
  
with her abilities and Eddie's own anger made him an exigent opponent.   
  
It was down to one last effort. Sara wasn't sure she would be able to follow through. The  
  
chance of success was slim and the likelihood of injuring herself, great.   
  
End Chapter 6/?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7  
  
See Part 1 for disclaimers  
  
Previous parts may be found at fanfiction.net; grissomandsara.com/fanfic and  
  
my website: www.geocities.com/missyliannem/csi.html  
  
A/N: This story was written very early Season 3. So any episodes after the  
  
first couple are irrelevant to how this story progresses.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Ever been here before?" Brass asked Nick as they moved through the milling  
  
foot traffic on The Strip in the midday heat.   
  
"My paycheck's not quite in the market for Vincenetti's. You've been here?"  
  
Nick swivelled his head towards the older man, confused by Brass' question.   
  
"My shoes don't speak imported handmade Italian leather? I'll have to get a  
  
raise." Brass grinned. He looked Nick up and down. "Only on business.   
  
Mattie'll like you."   
  
"What?" Nick shook his head, wondering for a moment if they were on the  
  
same wavelength.   
  
He followed Brass through the gilt-edged heavy, glass door. The interior was  
  
cool, a sharp contrast to the humid heat of Vegas. Highly polished wooden  
  
floors gleamed under intense spotlights. The smooth surface was reflected  
  
in the long mirrors placed at regular intervals around the room. Modern glass  
  
stands displayed impeccably crafted shoes of the finest quality imported  
  
leather.   
  
"Detective Brass. To what do I owe this honour?" A young, immaculately  
  
dressed man glided effortlessly across the floor to greet them. His demeanour  
  
was friendly, yet his pale eyes conveyed a wariness of the police detective.   
  
"Obviously you haven't taken my advice to visit Maxwell's."  
  
Brass shook his head and speared Mattie with a broad grin. "No. I didn't want  
  
to get charged with negligent homicide when the criminal content of the  
  
community caught sight of my new image."  
  
"And who is this young man?" Mattie slowly savoured each word, allowing  
  
each to drop in a pool of desire. He let his eyes drift seductively over Nick's  
  
form.   
  
Brass watched with a smirk on his face as Nick shifted uncomfortably under  
  
the intense scrutiny. He allowed himself a small amount of amusement at how  
  
Nick was handling the situation. It was Nick's harsh expression in his direction  
  
that prompted him to stop Mattie's inspection.  
  
"Nick Stokes. He's with criminalistics. You remember Gil Grissom... Nick's  
  
one of his." Brass' tone gave weight to the simple words.  
  
"Oh," Mattie mouthed, delicately. He flicked his head, his dark hair not yielding  
  
to the movement, the heavy hairspray holding it firmly in place. "Mr. Grissom.   
  
Such a nice man. Quiet, yet dignified. How is he?"  
  
Nick was about to answer when he felt Brass lightly touch his arm, indicating  
  
silently with his eyes to just follow his lead.  
  
"Could be better." Brass moved towards the cash register, forcing Mattie to  
  
follow him. Nick watched at a distance. "You may be able to help, Mattie."  
  
"Me? A criminal investigation?" Mattie managed to project the right amount  
  
of astonishment, his voice rising dramatically. "Hardly. I'm a simple shoe  
  
salesman."  
  
"You sell yourself short, Mattie. You have some very influential clientele."   
  
Brass lowered his voice as he spoke conspiratorially to the slimly built man.   
  
"We want to find one in particular."   
  
"Tut, tut, Detective Brass," Mattie cooed. "You know that my records are  
  
protected by law. Client privacy and all that."  
  
"Not with a Warrant." Nick held up the blue Court Order for Mattie's  
  
inspection.  
  
"Oh, so he can talk." Mattie commented, walking over to take the Warrant. He  
  
allowed his fingers to slide seductively over Nick's as his almost translucent  
  
blue eyes looked deeply into chocolate brown ones. Nick pulled back quickly,  
  
breaking both the physical and visual contact."  
  
"Show us your records," Brass said decisively.  
  
"All right. If you insist." Mattie swept past Brass to the computer on the  
  
polished timber U shaped counter.   
  
"No, don't ...." Nick started to say as he moved around to physically stop  
  
Mattie, but he was too late. Mattie had already executed a few sharp taps on  
  
the keyboard. Nick's hands stopped the movement. Mattie looked at Nick,  
  
his gaze cold.   
  
Nick scanned the screen. "Brass, we're going to need Archie out here. I don't  
  
know if he's deleted anything and I'm not willing to change anything that could  
  
jeopardize Sara and Lindsey."   
  
"Mattie, I want your full records." Brass loomed over the man, despite the two  
  
of them being the same height. "Do I need to remind you that I can always  
  
provide you with an all expenses paid one-way trip to an exclusive hotel for the  
  
night? The decor may not be your cup of tea, Mattie, but the friends that you'd  
  
meet.... well, they certainly like pretty boys like you."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Light softly illuminated the office from the small lamp on the desk. Catherine  
  
sat hunched over the well worn surface. She gripped the ballpoint pen tightly  
  
in her fist as she raked her left hand through her limp hair. Taping the pen on  
  
the desk, Catherine narrowed her eyes as she scanned the list she had made.   
  
Brass had suggested that she should try to remember any of Eddie's contacts.   
  
Anyone or any place which might provide them with a clue as to where he  
  
was. The sooner they could find him, the better... for both Lindsey and Sara.  
  
She chewed on her lip, wishing she had paid more attention to his rambles  
  
about his contracts and latest women or friends.   
  
"How's it going, Cath?"  
  
Catherine let out a small scream and jumped at the voice close to her ear.   
  
"Warrick! Don't scare a woman to death."  
  
"Sorry. I thought you'd heard me walk in and make my coffee," he said gently  
  
as he dropped his lanky frame into the seat beside her.  
  
"Did you?" Catherine could smell the freshly brewed coffee now that he  
  
mentioned it. "Sorry, I wasn't concentrating on what was going on around  
  
me."  
  
"How are you doing, Cath?"  
  
"Truthfully. If Eddie walked in that door right now, I'd shoot him regardless of  
  
the consequences. But after I'd found out who he owed the money to and  
  
what he'd done with Sara. This list is out-dated. Since we split, I've ignored  
  
what he was doing. I didn't want it to impact on Lindsey and I certainly didn't  
  
need the added reminder of knowing what he'd done while we were married."  
  
"Hey, Cath. It's not your fault."  
  
"Are you sure? Sara wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't pushed her into  
  
coming home with me."  
  
"Sara's independent. If she truly didn't want to go, she would have avoided it."  
  
"But that's not how people are going to see it. It's not how Sara's going to see  
  
it when she gets out of this. If she gets out of it...."  
  
"Eddie won't hurt her, Cath," Warrick interrupted.  
  
"I don't know about that Warrick. He was pissed off with her in the coffee  
  
room. Eddie can be dangerous when he's crossed. Sara did the unspeakable  
  
in his eyes, she made him unworthy as a man by bringing him down to his  
  
knees. He may have only slapped me around a bit, but do that to someone  
  
who's already injured..." Catherine tapered off, not willing to voice the  
  
possibilities that were running through her mind.  
  
Warrick looked up at Catherine, surprised by her admission of the abuse by  
  
Eddie. He reached over and touched her arm. Her hand sought his as tears  
  
began to fall, her shoulders heaving as silent sobs shook her small body.   
  
Warrick put his arms around her shoulders and provided quiet solace. No  
  
words would be of any comfort. The stakes were too high and the odds of  
  
success were stacked against them.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Greg pulled the sheet of paper from the machine, a smile of satisfaction slowly  
  
filling his face. "Maybe, just maybe," he muttered to himself. He pushed  
  
himself off his seat. It slowly rolled backwards as he moved quickly out the  
  
door.  
  
"Hodges, you seen Grissom?" Greg had worked out Hodges' method for  
  
trying to climb the lab ladder was to keep in Grissom's good books. If Greg  
  
was in Grissom's shoes, he'd be concerned that Hodges seemed to be able  
  
to keep tabs on his whereabouts. Greg didn't like the man. His demeanour  
  
was like a wet blanket over the office and Greg tried to avoid him wherever  
  
possible. But he would use Hodges for information when it suited him.  
  
"He's in his office."  
  
Greg moved quickly through the CSI lab, studiously keeping his eyes on the  
  
paper in front of him. He ignored all the people he passed, their greetings  
  
unheard.   
  
"Grissom. I've got it." He was puffed by the time he got to the office. "Or at  
  
least I think I've got it. Well, that's if CODIS' information is...."  
  
"Greg, stop. What have you got?" Grissom silenced the young man with the  
  
heavily gelled hair.  
  
"A match. The DNA from the cigarette butt matches to one Tony Petersen."   
  
Greg handed over the print-out from CODIS.  
  
Grissom scanned the document before his eyes settled on the photograph in  
  
the corner. The black and white photo clearly displayed the man's heavy  
  
physique. Grissom shuddered to think that Sara had defended herself  
  
against him. It was no wonder that her blood was found on the scene. While  
  
having a lead to one of their perpetrators, it worried him about the injuries  
  
Sara had sustained at his hands.  
  
"Great work, Greg," Grissom praised as he picked up the phone. It was the  
  
first good news they'd had in the investigation.  
  
"What now?" Greg asked.  
  
Grissom held up his hand to silence him. Greg slowly sank into the chair and  
  
sat quietly listening to the one-sided conversation. "Brass. I need to meet  
  
you at The Golden Egg." Grissom paused for a moment. "Yeah, the DNA on  
  
the cigarette butt matches Tony Petersen. We also need a warrant for his  
  
shoes."   
  
"Can I come with you?" Greg asked as Grissom broke the connection.   
  
"No. You're not used to being out in the field and you're too close to this  
  
case."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
Grissom eyed Greg thoughtfully.  
  
"You're close to Sara," Greg argued, ignoring the flash of pain that passed  
  
over Grissom's face before being quashed. "You knew her before she came  
  
here. Isn't it hard for you?"  
  
Grissom ran a finger over his mouth before replying. His answer was honest  
  
and direct. "Yes. Yes, it is. But I'm not going to leave Sara's fate in someone  
  
else's hands."  
  
"I don't want to either."  
  
"Greg, I have worked crime scenes all my adult life and dealt with criminals.   
  
You are only beginning to get out into the field. I don't want to jeopardize a  
  
chance to find Sara with an inappropriate move on your part. Investigators  
  
with more experience than you have made that mistake. Your presence at this  
  
stage could affect the case detrimentally."  
  
Greg turned away from the older man to avoid him having to see the pain in  
  
his eyes. His shoulders slumped and he moved slowly towards the door.  
  
"Greg." Grissom called out. He waited until the young man stopped. Greg  
  
half-turned to face him. "You've done excellent work for your first time out in  
  
the field. Remember though, first you must learn to crawl before you can  
  
walk."  
  
"Thanks, Grissom." Greg gave him a half-hearted smile of thanks before  
  
returning to the security of his lab. He thought of the last time Sara had been  
  
here. He has teased her over the grapevine rumour of a boyfriend. Sara had  
  
expertly avoided his ploys to reveal information about her personal life other  
  
than to remind him that her private life was just that - private. He had also  
  
heard from Warrick that she denied that Hank was anything other than a  
  
friend. One thing he did know about Sara was that she told the truth. Greg  
  
hoped that they would find Sara in time. It was only with time that he could tell  
  
her that he appreciated having her as a friend.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
O'Reilly led a team police officers up the straight, concrete path to the white,  
  
brick house. His pudgy knuckles rapped against the lemon-coloured door, its  
  
aging paint flaking and begging for a new coat of colour. There was no  
  
answer. He knocked again, this time calling out for Eddie Willows to answer  
  
the door. Warrick and Toby Wright, a CSI from Ecklie's team that Grissom  
  
had requested assist the team on the case, hung back behind the officers.  
  
Warrick let his gaze wander over the smaller man by his side. He had worked  
  
with Toby a couple of times when days had case overloads. During those  
  
times he had found Toby easy to work with and efficient.   
  
"Okay, Warrick. The key," O'Reilly instructed.  
  
Warrick moved forward and slipped the key Catherine had given him into the  
  
lock. He opened the door and allowed the police officers to go inside to clear  
  
the scene.   
  
"It's all clear," O'Reilly called out.  
  
  
  
"Our turn now, Tobe," Warrick said, throwing a grim smile towards the younger  
  
man.   
  
Toby tightened his grip on the aluminium forensics case. He was nervous.   
  
It wasn't due to uncertainty in his abilities; he could do his job and do it well.   
  
It was caused by knowing that this was a case involving one of their own. Toby  
  
had seen Sara many times during her long hauls on the job. It had amazed  
  
him how she could continue to work relentlessly, sustained only by her  
  
caffeine addiction. He was witnessing her team do the same in their  
  
desperate search for her and Catherine's daughter.   
  
"Where do you want to start?"   
  
"We'll search each room together. Work opposite sides back towards the  
  
middle." Warrick took a quick overview of the room. "Nick'll be here soon to  
  
help. He was leaving the computer at Vincenetti's in Archie's hands before  
  
heading over here."  
  
"This Eddie wasn't a tidy guy," Toby commented, running his flashlight over  
  
the corners of the room. CDs, papers and magazines filled every tabletop  
  
and many places on the floor. Only a small walkway was left in which to  
  
move around the room. It was dark; heavy curtains sealed off the brilliant  
  
sunshine outdoors.   
  
Warrick turned on the light. They moved through the house, gaining an  
  
overall view of the secondary crime scene.   
  
"We've got our work cut out for us," Warrick stated, turning off his flashlight  
  
with a snap. "We're looking for anything that might link Eddie to the  
  
kidnappers. Something that might give us a clue as to who Eddie owes the  
  
money to. But don't forget that we're looking for Eddie as well, where he  
  
might be holding Sara."   
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~   
  
Sara backed herself up against the door. She wrapped her bound hands  
  
firmly around the handle. The flashlight in Eddie's hands bobbed up and down  
  
with each step he took towards her, but the beam's focus never detoured from  
  
her.  
  
She tried to slow her ragged breathing by counting backwards. The heated  
  
air whistled over her pursed lips. Her heart beat heavily in her chest. She  
  
closed her eyes to break the incessant light in her eyes. But only for a  
  
moment. She didn't trust the man coming up the stairs. He was only a couple  
  
of feet away from where she had planted herself.  
  
"You don't know what you've brought down on yourself."  
  
"I think I know, Eddie," Sara told him. Her voice was relatively calm, despite  
  
the ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach. "I've seen enough cases to  
  
know what happens when you really piss someone off. And many more cases  
  
where there was no reason whatsoever other than the person wanted to beat  
  
down on someone else."  
  
Sara watched his hands warily. She was sure that he would knock her  
  
unconscious after her latest attack. An important factor in self-defense is to  
  
be fully aware of your attacker and counteract the assault. Sara hoped that  
  
she would be able to see where the attack was coming from. The flashlight  
  
in her eyes only gave her a silhouette of Eddie.  
  
It was the sudden movement of the flashlight that gave her warning of his  
  
intent. Sara ducked. It missed her skull and connected with her shoulder.   
  
She grimaced, but didn't allow it to distract her. Quickly calculating the  
  
distance, she put all the power behind her leg and lashed out. Her leg  
  
connected squarely with Eddie's midriff. The beam of light spun wildly around  
  
the room as Eddie's arms flailed to find something for support. There was  
  
nothing.  
  
Sara witnessed the fall by the dance of the flashlight and the grunts made on  
  
each connection with the stairs. The beam of light cut out suddenly. She  
  
heard several more thumps before a sickening crunch. Adrenaline dipped  
  
suddenly and Sara felt herself losing distance with reality. She slowly slid  
  
down to the cold concrete stair, her back firmly pressed against the solid door.   
  
Her head was still spinning and she let it fall forward onto her bent knees. In  
  
the distance, she heard a car start and take off, spinning its tires with a  
  
squeal. Reality began to set in and her shoulders shook as she gave in to the  
  
fear that had held her in its grip for so long.  
  
  
  
End Chapter 7/?  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8/?

A/N: People are going to think this is ridiculous, but the name Petersen wasn't chosen because of WP, but rather since it's my best friend's surname. Until I typed "Mr. Petersen", it only dawned on me what I had done. Sorry :(

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Vegas during the day didn't lose the glamour of the night, only the intensity. The lights still flashed, but didn't have the powerful effect that the night seemed to imbibe them with. Grissom stood, a lone statue, silently observing the people around him. Lunch hour trade was still in full swing. Although the restaurant tables nearby were filled with patrons, the sound of their laughter failed to reach him. Silence descended, but his keen eyes captured what his ears could not. Patiently, he waited; for Brass and for the sounds to return. 

His aluminum forensics kit weighed heavily in his hand. Over the years, he had come to accept that his job would entail meeting people on the worst day of their lives. Some cases impacted more than others. Not that any one life was more valuable, they were simply more tragic and emotionally draining. But he had never thought that this situation would apply to his team, to himself, in what was facing them today. Risk came with their type of work; Holly Gribbs' death had been testament to that. 

Repeatedly over the last few hours, he had to remind himself what he had told Sara when a serial rapist had struck Las Vegas: sometimes the hardest thing to do is to do nothing. The past few hours had borne heavily on him while waiting for the evidence to mount, evidence that would speak the truth. Evidence that would lead them to the kidnappers and, more importantly to Sara and Lindsey.

"Tony Petersen," Brass commented as he sleekly slid up beside Grissom, startling the criminalist out of his reverie. "Right hand man for Scott Gerrits. Close friend of Sam Braun. Braun and his friends seem to be popping up on our books lately." 

Grissom noted that sometime during his thoughts, his hearing had returned. It bothered him that he could never tell when it would come and go. He would have to do something about it, but that would mean facing the fact that there was something to face. Sara and Lindsey held his full focus and nothing could distract him from finding them alive. "Did you get the Warrant?"

"Picked it up on the way." Brass tapped the court approved warrant against his leg. It hadn't been difficult to convince the Judge to make the order. The evidence was strong against Tony Petersen. His previous altercations with the police caused Brass to be concerned. This man had managed to evade his last assault charge when the complainant had suddenly disappeared. Foul play? Her apartment hadn't shown any evidence of it, but Brass had his doubts. Tony Petersen had connections through his employer; connections that had the capacity to make victims and witnesses disappear and change their statements.

"Shall we?" Grissom invited, raising his eyebrows. The two proceeded into Scott Gerrits' domain. The familiar sound of the C major chord sang its tune. It was only a few weeks earlier that he had been fascinated by the chords, the harmony of the three notes - C, E and G. He had grown accustomed to the sound and had assumed that it would always be there. It was only when it was silenced that he truly appreciated the perfect symmetry that it represented. 

Even though it was the middle of the day, the casino was bustling with patrons. Accents and languages from around the world created a cadence of their own. The one-armed bandits were doing a roaring trade. It was what every visitor to Vegas seemed to desire, a win at a casino.

They approached the reception area. The pretty, blonde receptionist gave them a winning smile, perfect, white teeth glistening brightly against her painted, blood-red lips. 

"We're here to see Mr. Petersen," Brass told her, dropping his badge onto the counter in front of her.

Grey eyes fixed on the gold badge, the painted lips stopping in a rounded O. She had obviously never had the police drop in before and her insecurity was evident in her stammered response.

"Must be new to the job," Brass commented cynically as she walked away from them to seek assistance in complying with their request. "What do you think?" Brass leaned on the counter and gave a proprietary look around the casino.

"About what?" Grissom's brows knitted together.

"You must have a theory."

"Jim, you've worked with me long enough to know that I don't work on speculation. Theories aren't based on fact."

"But aren't you ever tempted to..." 

"No," Grissom told him curtly, cutting him off short. "I can't be swayed by emotions and theories are based on emotion."

"How can you not be influenced by emotion?" Brass pushed himself up from the counter and turned to challenge Grissom face to face. "This is Sara and Lindsey we are talking about. It's not something you can neatly package away." 

Grissom didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. How do you explain how, because these are people you know, that he was having to double check himself every step of the way to make sure that he was not making rash decisions, that he was following the evidence and not jeopardizing the lives of those that he loved. 

"I understand that you wish to see me."

Grissom slowly turned to face one of the men who had caused his world to spin on its axis. He would have recognized the man anywhere. The time Grissom had spent studying the printout that Greg had provided him with had imprinted Petersen's features on his memory permanently. 

"Mr. Petersen, we meet again." Brass smiled as he showed his badge.

"Detective Brass? What can I do to help you?" The burly man had perfected the art of innocence, unwittingly providing both Grissom and Brass with an idea of how the interview was going to proceed.

"This is Gil Grissom of the Crime Lab," Brass introduced, before proceeding. "We'd like to talk to you about your whereabouts over the last twenty-four hours."

"I've been here. Working mainly. Sleeping in between." Petersen gave them both an obviously well-practiced smile. "As you are aware, I have a suite in the hotel."

"So you wouldn't mind explaining how your DNA was found at the scene of a kidnapping in the last twenty-four hours?" Grissom asked softly. 

"How did you get access to my DNA?" Tony Petersen's casual nonchalance was cast aside.

"The system. Alleged assault eighteen months ago," Brass reminded him, taking pleasure in seeing Petersen's cocky confidence shaken.

"Those charges were dropped," Petersen said gruffly.

"Only because the complainant disappeared. The evidence didn't," Brass told him, rubbing a finger gently against his chin.

Grissom remarked quietly, "When a crime is committed, a lot of planning goes into it, but nobody can plan for every contingency. The perpetrators cannot ensure that every piece of evidence is taken, especially when they are taken by surprise." 

Petersen slowly turned to consider Grissom, his hooded eyes guardedly assessing the criminalist with an added respect and fear. Grissom raised his chin slightly, issuing a challenge. Petersen realized that this man knew more about the crime than he was telling. 

"We may be able to jog your memory with this warrant to search your apartment and take your shoes." Brass held out the warrant for Tony Petersen.

"Hey, Tony...." called out a young man as he walked up to them. "Sorry. I didn't realize you were busy. I'll come back later."

"No wait. I've got a couple of questions for you. Detective Brass, Homicide. And you are?" Brass asked.

"Leon Dupre," he answered, swivelling his head between Brass, Grissom and Petersen.

"Mr. Dupre, would you like to explain how you broke your nose," Grissom asked, eyeing the enormous swelling. Bruising from the injury had extended under each of his eyes, turning the skin a reddish-purple colour. 

"Football," came the easy answer. 

"You play football mid-week?"

"No. On Sunday. Why?" Confusion marred Dupre's face. 

"Your nose is still bleeding." Grissom refrained from pointing out the colour of his bruising was wrong for an injury sustained days before. 

"Oh, I've always had trouble with 'em."

"Would you mind if I took a swab? I'm fascinated by people who have clotting problems. You would be part of my investigation."

Dupre shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what Grissom meant by his question, although he did not wish to show his ignorance to the police. Grissom set his forensics kit down on the floor and pulled out a swab. Grissom was quick in his actions and already had the swab to the blood trailing from Dupre's nose. Tony Petersen objected as it dawned on him what Grissom intended to do with the results obtained from the swab. Petersen recognized the danger too late. Grissom capped the swab and jotted down the case number details. It was now part of the investigation.

"Mr. Petersen. Your apartment," Brass said with a friendly grin.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9/?**

See Part 1 for disclaimers

Previous parts may be found at fanfiction.net; and my This story was written very early Season 3. So any episodes after the first couple are irrelevant to how this story progresses.

Many thanks to Alison and Psyched for their betaing skills. Any errors or omissions are my own.

* * *

Sunlight filtered into the living area of Eddie Willows' house, illuminating dust particles floating in the air. Warrick opened the curtains, making good use of the daylight outside, a rarity during most of their investigations.

Warrick made his way methodically around the room. He pulled cushions from the couch and slipped his gloved hands between the grooves, searching for anything that may provide a clue as to Sara and Lindsey's whereabouts. Coins, paperclips and crusted pieces of toast revealed themselves, even a used condom, but nothing more substantial. He flicked through the stacks of magazines, sighing as he realized that this search was going to take time.

"I've got something. Or some things..." Toby was flattening out a wadded ball of paper. Looks like an attempt at a ransom note."

Warrick dropped the cushion back onto the couch and looked over Toby's shoulder at the half crumpled sheet of paper. Toby passed it over to him as he continued to rummage through the waste paper basket for more evidence. Warrick's lips curled in anger as he read Eddie's attempt at the ransom note that he had sent.

"There's more." Toby dangled several more attempts in the air, his black eyes glinting in the sunlight. Some were crushed almost beyond recognition and others torn into pieces.

"Hi, guys. What've you got?" Nick came through the door, pulling on his latex gloves.

"Proof," Warrick said triumphantly. "Looks like Eddie's ransom attempts. Now we need to find out where he's got Sara."

"What do you know about him?" Toby asked the two graveshift CSIs.

"Not a lot." Nick said. "Just that he plays rough. You saw what he did to Catherine and Sara last night. Grissom had banned him from getting into the building after he harassed Catherine a couple of years ago. There was a temp working reception last night and he managed to con his way in."

"I heard that Sara educated him on the correct way to treat women," Toby said with a quick grin, easily imagining Sara sending the man to the floor as the internal grapevine had indicated she had.

"Yeah." Warrick agreed, vividly remembering the scene in the breakroom the night before; Eddie seated on the floor and Sara, her anger obvious to all, her face marred by blood from Eddie's punch. "Although she did catch a punch herself."

"Really?" Toby commented, his face registering surprise.

"Eddie's easily twice Sara's weight and he caught her by surprise."

"Even so, Sara's trained in weaponless defense."

"How'd you know that?" Nick was curious. Although Sara didn't hide the fact, she didn't really announce her skills to one and all.

"She teaches a self defense class run at the local YWCA," Toby told them, frowning.

"She does?"

"Yeah. For a couple of years. She does it as a volunteer. Didn't you know?" Toby was surprised by their lack of knowledge of this part of her life. As far as he knew it wasn't a secret, but obviously, Sara kept things about her private life quiet. It made him wonder what else Sara hadn't told them.

"How did you know?"

"My sister-in-law . She attended the classes after her house was burgled."

Nick and Warrick exchanged looks. Neither knew about this part of Sara's life. Thinking it through, they realised how little they knew about Sara apart from her work. She would come to breakfast with them if she wasn't working late. Occasionally, when they were discussing a movie they'd seen, she'd jump into the conversation, giving her own views on the film. Both of them made a silent pact that when they found Sara, they would make a point of getting to know her outside work hours.

"Let's get to work. We've only got the proof here. We need to find where he's got Sara." Warrick headed back over to where he had stopped searching to look at Toby's find. Looking back over his shoulder at his colleague, he asked, "Did you get any info at the shoe store?"

"Archie's working on the computer at the moment," Nick informed him. "Mattie, the guy who ran the store, isn't giving up any info. He's protecting his ass."

"Probably wise from his point of view."

"Nothing on the other kidnappers at all?" asked Toby.

"Not at this stage." Nick turned to Warrick. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Try the bedroom. Hopefully he left more clues around this place."

"With what he left in the trash, let's keep hoping." Before he walked down the hallway Nick asked, "Did Catherine come up with any names?"

"Brass's checking out the names and places she came up with, but she didn't keep up with his day to day comings and goings."

"If I was Catherine, I wouldn't have either. How's she holding up?"

"She's stretched thin. She's also worried about Sara."

"Sara can handle herself. Tricia was in awe of what she could do," Toby said confidently.

"That's fine in a normal situation. But we know that she was injured at the house," Warrick pointed out. "What if she can't defend herself?"

The words hung in the air, dampening an already somber team of CSIs.

OoOoOoO

Sara felt herself falling, the ground no longer solid beneath her feet. She twisted in the air, unable to see, heavy blackness grabbing at her in every direction, pulling her down into a seemingly bottomless pit. Terror filled her and she wanted to scream, but somehow her fear pushed that ability away. The end of the fall came with the crashing halt of reality. Blinking in the darkness, Sara realised that she had almost fallen asleep at the top of the stairs.

She shivered and pulled her bent legs closer to her body, draping her tied hands over the knees. The air in the room had become cooler, but was still musty and thick. She wondered how much time had passed since she had been abducted. Time was impossible to predict without the markers of day and night. Unable to correlate events cohesively, it made the whole event seem surreal. She wished that it could be a simple nightmare from which she would wake and be none the worse for wear other than being tired. The pain from her injuries proved the reality of her situation.

In her earlier exploration of the room, Sara had been unable to discover any escape routes. She vaguely noticed that the rumble of the air-conditioner had ceased. She was grateful; the pulsating sound had aggravated the increasing vice-like pressure inside her head. Idly, Sara wondered if it had overheated and would require maintenance. She rested her head lightly on her knees, her eyes becoming heavy.

A stampede of tiny feet scampering over the newspaper on the concrete floor brought her back to awareness. "Rats," Sara thought to herself, hugging her legs closer to her body, away from the hungry scavengers. Her arms and legs were unsteady, quivering like a bowl of jello. She was glad that she was at the top of the stairs, denying herself the thought that rats could easily climb them.

The chittering sound increased as did the pitter-patter of the sharp claws on the concrete surface. It sent shivers up her spine. They were obviously scurrying around, enjoying some tasty morsel. Sara was grateful that whatever they had found was keeping them down there, away from her. She had witnessed first hand the devastating damage the rodents' sharp teeth gnawing on human flesh could cause. Sara tiredly rested her head on her knees, her eyelids drooping groggily.

Moments later her head shot up suddenly. It dawned on her as to what the rats might have found as the source of their next meal. She forced herself to her feet, swaying unsteadily, taking each step tentatively as she progressed down the stairs, murmuring to herself that she was doing this for Lindsey and Catherine.

Reaching the bottom, she stomped her feet loudly, trying to scare the rodents away. She knew that they were persistent creatures and it wouldn't be long before they realised that she wasn't much of a threat, although she could be another food source. Sara gingerly moved forward, her feet slapping heavily on the concrete floor to scatter the scavengers as she tried to locate Eddie's unconscious form in the darkness.

The pitter-patter of little feet scurrying over the discarded newspaper sheets sent a shiver up her spine. Never again would she think that bugs doing what came naturally on a dead body were gross. The thought of a person being eaten while still living set her stomach roiling. Sara recalled her short search of the surroundings earlier, before Eddie had arrived. She hadn't discovered a single item that would be worthy of holding off the horde of hungry rodents.

Her slow shuffle forward stumbled against Eddie's body. Sara bent down to try and bring him back to consciousness. She knew that the sickening sound of him connecting with the concrete floor would have rendered him unconscious, but she hoped to wake him enough that he could help her save him from becoming the entree for the local four-legged tribe.

Her fingers found his face and she tapped him lightly, calling out his name. He didn't respond. Sara ran her bound hands over his head, doing a quick check for injuries. Her fingers found more than what she bargained for. Bile rose in her throat as she realised that she'd killed the man.

OoOoOoO

The search of Eddie's house was progressing slowly. Discarded rubbish filled many surfaces; Warrick thought that Catherine should ban Lindsey from ever staying at the place. It was a health hazard. Eddie's computer had been hauled away to the lab for computer technicians to deal with and hopefully find some further incriminating evidence.

They hadn't found much else around the place that might give a clue as to where he might have taken Sara.

"Warrick, Eddie was into making record deals, right?" Nick questioned.

"Yeah. I don't think he was that great at it or he would have been making more dough."

"Wouldn't he have contacts with places to make those deals, you know, like studios..."

"Yeah... yeah, he would." Warrick confirmed, thinking for a moment. His train of thought was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. "Hello. Warrick Brown."

Nick could only hear one side of the conversation and deduced that it was the motor dealership. "Good news?"

"Not bad. Only two cars have been fitted with the make and size of the tire we're seeking. I'll get Greg to run a DMV search on the ownership of the two vehicles and see what we come up with." Warrick informed him as he was dialing the number for the zealous CSI DNA technician.

"Greg, got something for you to do, man." Warrick jumped in with before the young man answering the phone had a chance to say anything but his name. Greg had obviously been sitting by the phone willing it to ring with news. "I need to you to do a DMV search on these two cars." Warrick reeled off the registration numbers and waited until they had been read clearly before continuing, "If you run into any problems, get Catherine to give you a hand."

"You're not going to run with it yourself?" Nick asked, surprised.

"No. What you said earlier has reminded me of something. Matchbooks." Warrick pursed his lips as he mentally ran through the search he'd conducted so far. Nick followed his colleague and watched him, his brows knitted in confusion. Warrick traced back his steps to the lounge and began sifting through the rubbish on the floor beside the lounge suite. The small, flip back matchbook had slipped past his notice, he hadn't thought of the significance of the item until now.

"What's the common thing people pick up when they're a regular at a casino?"

"Matchbooks."

"There are several in this room. I saw them and didn't give them a second thought until now." Warrick was still hunting the room and coming up with more of the matchbooks. "Four from the Golden Egg and two from Caesers. What's the bet that the IOUs that Lindsey was taken because of his gambling at one of these two?"

OoOoOoO

Greg slid into the ergonomic seat, his notepad close at hand with the two registration numbers diligently written down in precise penmanship. His job required pinpoint accuracy and this had carried through into his writing. It was useless to have accurate work if no one was able to decipher the results.

He logged onto the DMV secure website for searches by authorised personnel. It didn't take him long to find the owners of the two vehicles, one of which was a corporation. A gnawing in his gut told him that the corporation was the one that they were looking for. He logged on to the SEC website and conducted a search, knowing that any publicly held company would have to file documents outline its ownership structure with that agency. Within a few minutes, he had printed out the precise details including a list of its directorships and major shareholders. After a few more quick searches, he came up with a name that tied in with his earlier DNA discovery.

Greg pulled all the printouts neatly together and placed them into a folder. He wondered whom he should go to with all the information. As he was passing the AV lab, he caught sight of the strawberry-blonde CSI seated beside Archie and within moments knew that this tied in with the news she had just heard on the voice over played for her.

OoOoOoO

Walking dejectedly down the hallway, Catherine had decided to make her way back to her sister's house. Maybe Lindsey would call again. At least someone would be there to hold her hand as she waited. The hallways in the CSI building were vacant; everybody working overtime trying to come up with answers to find her daughter and Sara. Time was running out. A scream pierced the air as she passed by the AV lab. It was a familiar sound, one that she'd heard plenty of times before.

Catherine tried to ignore it, walk by and leave the sound behind. But she couldn't. She knew the sound would haunt her on the drive to Jennifer's house and during the time she spent there. It was hard to deny the fact that even if she did walk out now, it would only be a matter of time before she would return to hear the evidence for herself. She may as well save herself time.

"Is that the 911 tape?"

"Catherine? It's evidence," Archie's voice held a note of warning.

"Play it back for me."

"You know I can't do that. You're not on the case."

"I may be able to identify a voice, help in some way."

"You will also be contaminating the evidence."

"Who will know, but you and me?" Catherine questioned quietly, sliding into the chair beside him. She leaned forward towards him and continued, "Look, it's not as if it's going to greatly affect the outcome at this stage. You've heard it. Is there anything on there that you think can help?"

Archie reluctantly shook his head. If Grissom or the defense team caught wind of this Catherine's involvement could end up freeing the kidnappers he and everyone else in the lab were now working so hard to catch.

"There may be something on there that I recognise." Catherine didn't know why she was pushing to hear the tape. Archie had already admitted the tape held nothing of significance, but in her gut, she knew she needed to hear it for herself.

"Jacqui pulled a print off Sara's cell phone, though. It matches one Tony Petersen." "Tony Petersen?" Catherine asked. She shook her head and pursed her mouth as she thought about the man that matched the name, the fingers of her left hand tapping softly against her painted lips. "You know him?" Archie raised his eyebrows. "Not personally." Catherine said as she slid into the seat beside him, resting her chin on her hand, trying to appear calm when thoughts were swirling madly around her head. "So what have you got?" 

"Voices. Several of them." Archie had his hand poised over the keyboard, ready to play the sound sequence again and then, with a look of gentle concern, turned to Catherine. "Be warned. You can hear both Sara and Lindsey in the recording."

Catherine took a deep breath and slowly released it. "Okay. I'm ready." As ready as she'd ever be to hear the replay of her daughter's kidnapping and an attack on her colleague.

They listened to the tape, the sounds sometimes indistinct and at other times, crystal clear and leaving little to the imagination. Catherine put her hand over her mouth when her daughter's scream filled the air again before it all went silent. She didn't realise that tears were flowing until she felt a hand cover her own.

"Grissom'll find her." Archie told her sincerely.

"Catherine..." Greg's voice interrupted them from the doorway.

Quickly wiping at her eyes, Catherine looked up at younger man. "What is it, Greg?" She asked, tiredly.

"The motor dealership rang with details of the registration numbers of the two cars that had been fitted with the tires. It was when I did the company search that it showed up. You might be interested to see this."

Catherine snatched the proffered paperwork from his hand, scanning the contents quickly. It didn't take her long to find the details that Greg was alluding to. It was all there in fine print. Handing the paperwork back to him, she raced out the door.

Both Archie and Greg were startled by the abrupt change. "Catherine, where are you going?" they both called out, but the words failed to register with the departing woman. She was on a mission to find her daughter.

**End Chapter 9/?**


End file.
